A New Day: The Continuing Story of Peter Pan
by Zigs1379
Summary: Peter Pan & Wendy, now married, have just welcomed their 3rd child into the world -- a bouncing baby boy. But their happiness is soon cut short when it becomes clear that the apple does not fall far from the tree... COMPLETE
1. THE NEXT GENERATION

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my first attempt at fanfiction, so please bear with me! From the start, I must explain the origins of this story, as it pulls from several different sources;  
  
This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcine's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves off halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie Confused yet? ;-)  
  
So, without much further ado, I present my very first (and very brief) chapter. All comments are welcomed! Please, I can handle constructive criticism. Enjoy! ;-)  
  
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I. THE NEXT GENERATION  
  
The nurse raced down the stairs as fast as her aged ankles could take her. One could scarcely tell who was the more anxious party - she or her patient. And since the latter was truly in no condition to be racing down stairs at the moment - one could argue that neither was our trusty nurse! - it was now all in the hands of the former to deliver the pressing news.  
  
At long last, the nurse could see the large oak doors leading to the parlor, and with the one last ounce of strength the older woman had remaining in her, she flung the doors open.  
  
"'Tis a BOY!" came the breathless cry.  
  
And she needn't have spoken so loudly, for the expectant father was already standing but inches from the door, wringing his hands nervously.  
  
But now, upon hearing the nurse's joyous announcement, his hands moved sharply to his hips. He stood erect and proud, his feet spread slightly outwards - a pose he had long come to be known for.  
  
"I knew it," he announced quite confidently.  
  
From behind the handsome, fair-haired man came sudden, exuberant shouts, thus ending his momentary lapse into pomposity. In his nervous pacing, the father must have forgotten that the two girls were even there. They had been so pleasant before; quietly sitting side-by-side on the large overstuffed armchair thumbing through the latest issue of National Geographic and daydreaming of the many wonderful adventures they were most certain to have - that is, of course, once Mother and Father deemed them old enough to leave their quaint little nest.  
  
But now, that National Geographic lay carelessly on the floor, in imminent danger of being stomped upon by one or both of the girls as they noisily bounced up and down in anticipation of the new adventure presently awaiting them upstairs.  
  
"May we see him, Daddy? May we see him?" the little girls shrieked.  
  
The father raised a hand and bade them be quiet, then he turned his attention back to the nurse, still panting horribly as though she had begat the child herself!  
  
"How is my wife?" he asked, already knowing the answer, arrogant as he is.  
  
"She is well, sir," came the breathless reply. "She wishes to see you."  
  
"Of course!" And with that, the athletic new father raced up the stairs with the vivacity of a young man half his age. 


	2. NEVER A HAPPIER, SIMPLER FAMILY

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcine's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie Confused yet? ;-)  
  
Here's the much-anticipated Chapter II. All comments are welcomed! I can handle constructive criticism. Enjoy! ;-)  
  
II. NEVER A HAPPIER, SIMPLER FAMILY  
  
Now, I would put a wager to anyone who could ever guess that Mrs. Wendy Pan was the proud mother of three small children. She scarcely looked a day over 18 at all times. Some whispered that she simply must have inherited her own mother's flawless graces. Yet other more envious little beasts whispered that her good doctor's "tonics" contained a hammer and chisel.  
  
But never had the woman looked quite as lovely as she did the days in which she gave birth to her babies. This day was to be no exception. Her grinning husband could barely make out where their newborn must have been hiding underneath his wife's miles and miles of auburn hair. He heard no crying, so he took great pains to be as stealthy as he could manage as he crept into the bedroom, lest he wake a sleeping child.  
  
The Little Mother hadn't even realized her husband was in the room until she felt his strong arm drape itself around her shoulders. No words were exchanged between them. There needn't have been anyway. Indeed, the only sounds in that room at that moment were the hushed sighs of contentment as the happy couple gazed upon the brand new face of this brand new little person, and what delight they must have felt being the very first ones to do so!  
  
Wendy could feel her husband growing restless at once as he sat at the edge of the bed next to her. He had a certain way of squirming, of discreetly shifting his hips from side to side, that she instantly recognized to mean that he was absolutely itching to get after something. What that something was at this moment is wholly obvious! So, she gathered up the blankets around her new baby and softly passed him into the arms of his beaming father.  
  
If he had been having any doubts about his long-ago decision to remain with Wendy forever, a quick glance into the eyes of his first son erased them but permanently. It was all such a miracle! He could remember the first time Wendy announced she was expecting, six years ago. He remembered not really understanding what that meant or how it could happen, for he was still quite ignorant on the subject of mothers and fathers. Having had it explained to him, he thought it extraordinary, and marveled at the prospect of having children of his own when he himself had been one for so very long. I cannot lie to you and say he was not afraid. Of course he must have been! Wendy had to often explain to him that these children were not the Lost Boys - he could not "discipline" them in the same fashion. Nor could he allow the children to run amok as he had the Lost Boys. This paradox was what frightened him, and he was deathly afraid of not being a proper father. But Wendy told him that he needn't worry.  
  
The girls were born on the same day. This fascinated Peter to no end. He had thought that The Twins, a part of his merry band in Neverland, were an anomaly, a magical feat existing only in their fantastical realm. Indeed, he soon came to learn that this was surely one of nature's great wonders, but one that does happen every so often nonetheless.  
  
But the greatest thrill he realized upon having children is that he could vicariously relive his own extended and now abandoned youth through them. In the first years since leaving the Neverland behind and experiencing married life with Wendy, he had been exclusively kept in the Man's World. There was hardly an opportunity to run, prance, or roughhouse anymore as he used to. Oh, Wendy was able to indulge in some of these activities with him in her own way - she is still a lady, you know! - and sometimes his old chums the Lost Boys (and even John and Michael Darling) would oblige him, but mostly everyone was too busy going about their daily business to be caught up in such revelries. So, it was with great relief that there were now children in their lives, and he could once again run, prance, and roughhouse to his and his daughters' heart's content.  
  
But to have a boy.Peter Pan's own little boy! This was something more entirely.  
  
At the earliest opportunity she could find to do so, the children's nursemaid Violet dispatched a hasty wire to Wendy's parents in Bloomsbury to tell them of the wonderful news. In no time at all, Mr. And Mrs. Darling were at their daughter's bedside - as were Wendy's brothers, John, Michael, Slightly, Nibs, Tootles, Curly, and the Twins - to share in the celebration of the newest member of the Pan Clan (as Peter had so gaily christened it). I daresay there was never a more spirited sight!  
  
Not until three whole days later did the happy couple finally decide on a name for the boy. Mr. Darling had thoroughly insisted that the boy, being the first, should be named George after himself, just as he had named John after his own father. Peter and Wendy gave a hearty agreement in the presence of the family, but once doors were closed, they all but snickered at the request. Wendy did not care for the name, and though Peter found the whole tradition fetching, he rather thought his boy, being so unique, should have a unique name of his own.  
  
I probably ought to take the time and mention here that Wendy had taken it upon herself some time ago to do a bit of covert research into her dear husband's life prior to his arriving in Neverland. It was quite a tasking feat, but after several months of secretive labor, she was able to discover exactly who her Peter was, before he had become Peter Pan.  
  
Her greatest lead was sifting through piles and piles of records for missing children in the London area. She disregarded the solved cases and concentrated on the unsolved ones. With a reasonable amount of educational deduction and a dash of women's intuition, Wendy was able to piece together the lost and forgotten fragments of Peter's past. His father had been named Anthony, a little-known writer who made his living primarily from composing memorable limericks and catchphrases for everyday products to be placed in British newspapers and other publications around the country. It amused his daughter-in-law to learn that he had been the one to come up with a certain couplet for a popular bath soap that was sung ad nauseum in the Darling bathroom by her mother years ago. How did it go again? Wendy could not recall. She would have to ask Michael when next she saw him, as he always had a way of remembering such frivolities.  
  
Peter's own mother was called Abigail. She had been an actress at the time of her marriage, but her stage credits appeared to dwindle considerably around the time of Peter's birth, and did not pick up again until some years later. Peter had been her first child, but not the last. Not terribly long after Peter's disappearance ('twas rather not long enough, in Wendy's opinion), Anthony and Abigail had another son, thereby sealing their conviction that their firstborn would never be found and never return.  
  
For all Wendy could determine, Peter's brother was still alive. He had left England in manhood for America to find wealth. Heavens knows what had become of him. It mattered none, really, for Wendy knew there was not a chance Peter would ever have the desire to reunite with the boy who took his place. So she never shared this finding with him.  
  
All these revelations seemed perfectly quaint in their appearance, but the one piece of information that Wendy absolutely marveled at was Peter's *real* age - that is, how old he might be now if he had never ceased to grow all those many years in Neverland. From what Wendy could calculate, her darling husband should have been well into his eighties now! Wendy rather felt the Fates had been working on her side, to keep Peter young until the day when Wendy was born and grown enough for him to find her, and they could be together forever. And this the way it was always meant to be. Such thoughts sent small, happy shivers down Wendy's spine.  
  
In any event, the crucial day when Wendy and Peter sat down with their baby boy to come up with a proper name, Wendy very slyly suggested 'Anthony'. Peter pondered but a moment, then he decided it was a right smashing name. He had never heard such a name before, but it rolled off the tongue pleasantly, and so the boy was christened, Anthony Pan, after Peter's own long forgotten father. 


	3. OLD STOMPING GROUNDS

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie Confused yet?   
  


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Here's Chapter III.....starting to get into the meat of the story now. Thanks to those who have left comments already. More are welcomed! Enjoy  
  


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III. OLD STOMPING GROUNDS  
  
In the first year of young Anthony Pan's life, it had become all but a Truth as to his innate specialness. Within months of his birth, he already grew a full head of hair – a most delightful strawberry blond mop that curled up at the ends like tiny wings sprouting from his head. Wendy happily boasted that the boy took after his father, and Peter, being the type of personality as he was, would have it no other way.  
  
To be sure, there was something strangely – almost eerily – Pan-like about this child. Yes, he did display brief flashes of Wendy's sensitivity and warmth, but these moments were few and far between. Mostly, he was a right little demon, always attempting to be in places he was not supposed to be and doing things one of his size and age ought not to be doing. His nose for adventure was keen indeed, and even as one fixed upon his bright green eyes, he or she could instantly recognize that sparkle, that predilection for all things magical that was so distinct among little ones who have enchanted blood in them. So palpable was this sparkle, in fact, that it appeared sometimes as if just the expression in his eyes was enough to lift him into the air – just as Peter's Happy Thoughts once had been able to lift him. And one had to wonder if little Anthony did not actually have this ability! Often were the times when Mrs. Pan would venture into the nursery to find her son not in the crib where she had left him, but some distance away, usually near the window, eagerly trying to claw his way standing. Wendy dismissed these happenings as practical jokes played by her daughters, but the girls always insisted most vehemently that they had never touched the boy.  
  
Without question, baby Anthony's biggest thrill occurred every Wednesday afternoon when his mother would take him for strolls through Kensington Gardens in his perambulator. Peter was Head Gardener of the legendary park, and he delighted in the weekly visits from his wife and children to break up the monotony his working days sometimes most regrettably fell into.  
  
Wendy always insisted she take her children to the Gardens herself and would give Violet a short leave whenever she did. Nursemaids had become rather passé in the last few years, but under the fervent suggestion of her family – most notably the ever-watchful Aunt Millicent – the Pans retained Violet in their household simply to keep the peace. When the Girls started school, Wendy hardly could find a decent enough reason to go to the Gardens alone, so once Anthony came, she again resumed her weekly sojourns, without her daughters.  
  
And this particular day was just so. It had been fairly gloomy all morning – not altogether an unusual sight for London in the Fall, but ominous nonetheless – and Wendy had very nearly called off the visit, but little Anthony would hear none of it. He stamped and cried and threw up such a raucous as to arouse suspicions from the neighbors that someone surely must be getting murdered in the Pan household!  
  
Well, Wendy could not very well allow Anthony to carry on like this, so she immediately fetched the red tam o'shanters, and his cries were instantly subdued, for he knew exactly what those garments stood for.  
  
And so the attractive duo set forth on their journey to the park for what they were expecting to be a lovely visit with their father and fellow Londoners. Wendy brought along her umbrella just in case. She rather imagined she would eventually need it, judging from the gathering clouds overhead.  
  
The dreariness, however, did not appear to have the slightest affect upon other patrons of the Gardens. It was a rather surprising sight, indeed, to see so many other people congregating there that day.  
  
One of Wendy's secret delights when visiting the Gardens was a penchant for people-watching. She loved to observe the other women donning the latest fashions, although she herself was never one to conform to such trends. Many of them seemed so downright absurd to her – for instance, ladies of late had been chopping their hair off most bluntly clear up to their ears! Wendy rather thought this made them to look like boys, and she dismissed the fad entirely and preferred to keep her own flowing locks pulled up and back in a conservative bun. 'Twas how a proper lady should wear her hair anyhow. But it seemed more that almost everything was getting shorter and shorter; not just hair but hemlines as well. Skirts hiked up to ones knees? How shocking! The concept appealed to Wendy – it surely would make the life of an active mother a lot easier – but still she had no desire to be flashy or gaudy. She was a novelist after all, and who shall ever habitually see her during the day but close friends and family? Fashion was of no use to her at any rate, for her Peter often remarked that she could make even a potato sack look pleasing. And Peter was the only person whom Wendy cared to impress.  
  
He had been strolling along the Round Pond when he spotted Wendy and the perambulator heading up the Broad Walk towards him. She was a touch late, which surprised him a little, for she was more often than not as regular as Big Ben himself. They met halfway, exchanged several affectionate kisses, and, as was Peter's lighthearted custom, bestowed a few simple gifts upon his loving wife and adored son. He had just been attending to a fresh bloom of Stargazer Lillies near the Round Pond, and when he saw that nobody was watching, snatched up three bulbs for himself. He tied each to a small piece of vine, and tied one around his neck. Upon joining Wendy and Anthony on the Walk, he presented the gifts most ceremoniously, tying the lily necklaces around each perfect neck. Wendy immediately took hers off the vine and placed it in her hair, whilst Anthony attempted several times to consume his, so Peter tucked it inside his shirt.  
  
The family journeyed up Burge's Walk towards the Serpentine. This was their usual jaunt, for Peter had a keen and mostly unexplained affinity for this large body of water. He couldn't quite explain it, but he supposed it had something to do with his pre-Neverland days. He knew he had spent some time in Kensington Gardens as a baby after he ran away from his parents, but his memories of this period were much too muddled. In fact, he remembered almost nothing from his past up until he met first met Wendy. Those recollections, he contended, were the only ones of any significance anyhow.  
  
Walking along the Serpentine, the handsome threesome soon came upon a large and very tall bronze statue – of a little boy gaily standing upon a swirling mountain of fairies, playing a pan pipe as if beckoning them to him. Peter adored the statue, and it is of no wonder why, although he fairly thought it was not an accurate likeness. But Wendy explained that should it have been any less ambiguous, others would surely catch on quickly as to whom the subject of all her fantastical adventure stories was based upon. It was a conversation repeated during every visit to the monument, but by this time it had evolved into more of a cheeky habit than an actual serious discussion.  
  
And on this particular day, Peter and Wendy noticed their son Anthony staring up at the statue, widened eyes full of wonder and intrigue. Peter smiled with pride.  
  
"Do you know who this is?" he asked his son, pointing to the bronze monolith.  
  
Anthony continued to gaze, and with a proud conviction he could only have gotten from his father, he happily blurted out, "Me!"  
  
Mother and Father gasped heartily before falling into a placating laughter. Anthony knew not what they should find so funny, and he felt rather that he should be ashamed, so he sunk back into his pram and sulked.  
  
The Pans began their walk back towards the front gates to bid each other good day. Then, with a quiet suddenness, a horrible rumble in the sky stopped them and directed their eyes upwards. The heavens were becoming considerably more threatening. A rather nasty wind was starting to pick up as well. Wendy held her umbrella at the ready.  
  
Peter shrugged carelessly and grinned to his wife. "I suppose I shall have the rest of the afternoon off."  
  
She grinned back, warily though, knowing he was only joshing. There were far too many days like these in London for a Head Gardener to have so many afternoons off. Generally, during rain or other unpleasant conditions, he would be called to tend the indoor flora of Kensington Palace.  
  
Again the sky shook and moaned. The winds were getting more insistent now – so much so that Wendy reckoned her umbrella would be of no use at all should a rain come. But there was not a drop to fall whatsoever. Only the cruel winds, the blackened sky, and the jarring clashes of thunder.  
  
Wendy looked down and noticed Anthony's pram beginning to shudder. She tightened her grip on it. All around them, people were starting to become quite frightened indeed. Other babies were crying, and their mothers or nurses were quickly dispatching them from out of the Gardens. The pram continued to shake under Wendy's grasp, but more violently now, and soon it became too much for her delicate hands, and Peter had to clamp down on it as well. But it was of little help. The winds were beginning to swirl even faster, almost a kind of typhoon resolved to make landing right there in the park – and it was pulling hard on Anthony's pram as if it were a childless mother desperate for a babe of her own. Peter and Wendy were very well terrified by now. With all their strength did they try to hold the pram in place, and in all this time, little Anthony remained quite calm. In fact, he smiled at the malevolent wind, as if he saw a kind face within it where others did not.  
  
But his mother and father were determined in their hold on him, and then, as if the Gods themselves recognized their stubbornness, they sent forth a dreadful bolt of light from the clouds and clear between parents and child. The force was so great as to knock Peter and Wendy several feet rearward and onto their backs. And no sooner had their combined grasps been undone than the pram, with Anthony inside, was swept skyward and rapidly became little more than a dark speck among the raging storm.  
  
Before Peter and Wendy could spring up to run after him, they were being helped onto their feet by a couple of good Samaritans and some other park workers. They kept hold and began towing them toward the main gate, where the Keeper was demanding everyone evacuate the Gardens at once. But the horrified parents struggled most violently to free themselves and run after their baby, who was no longer even visible to any earthbound human. It took a tremendous effort to drag the kicking and screaming couple through the gates of the Gardens, and once there, they were practically thrown into the street like common beggars, and the gate doors swung shut in their faces.  
  
They ran to the bars, gripping the irons so tight the heat from their trembling hands might have melted them. But all they could do was stand and watch as the raging and unforgiving winds mocked their despair. Wendy, having no other alternatives, then did what any desperate mother could do in such a hopeless situation, and with a sound that rivaled only the evil storm in its utter wretchedness, she screamed her baby's name:  
  
"ANTHONYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!" 


	4. THE CYCLE

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site), somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie - which can be read at gutenberg.net). Confused yet?   
  


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WOW, I got some rather unexpected reactions from that last chapter! Not BAD, just......unexpected. So, hopefully, the following will ease some minds. ;- ) Here's Chapter IV – Get comfy, cuz this one's kinda long! And keep the comments coming! Enjoy!  
  
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IV. THE CYCLE  
  
A gentle serenity fell upon Kensington Gardens as twilight shimmered over London. One could scarcely imagine the monstrosities that had wreaked such havoc on the beautiful little park but just a few hours before. The wild flowers swayed softly in the breeze, the mallards and swans swam peacefully in the Serpentine, and sweet little Anthony Pan lie still upon the soft grass.  
  
As a light draft tickled his chubby cheeks, Anthony shifted slightly and continued his unmarred slumber, imagining he was but anywhere else than in the middle of Kensington Gardens well after Lock-Out Time. He dreamt of his mother peering in through the nursery door to make sure he was still there and not trying to fly out the window again. And he dreamt of so many other queer things as well, not the least of which were many tiny voices bouncing about his head, like little bells. They began as almost a whisper, but now he was able to make out here and there what they were saying:  
  
"Oh, no, no, this shan't do at all."  
  
"What is it, do you suppose?"  
  
"Isn't it obvious, silly? 'Tis another human child sent back to the birds by its mother."  
  
"What an ungrateful beast!"  
  
"What shall we do with it?"  
  
"Throw it into the Serpentine, I suppose. We have no use for it here."  
  
"No, we mustn't! It is such a small and helpless creature."  
  
"Well, then what does one do with a human? Does anyone remember?"  
  
"Oh! Oh! I have an idea!"  
  
"Pray tell."  
  
"We must take the child to back to Bird Island!  
  
"Yes, yes, to see...."  
  
"Shh! It wakens!"  
  
The anxious chattering had aroused Anthony's senses into consciousness, and very slowly did his lids part so that his eyes might take in the most curious of sights he had yet seen in his young life. Skipping all about him were a myriad of lights, and within those lights he could just discern the figures of what appeared to be very tiny people. It was a glorious spectacle indeed! So glorious, in fact, he assumed he must still be dreaming. But a swift pinch on the nose from a younger little light-person soon washed those illusions away. It was real – and it was marvelous!  
  
"How do you do?" Anthony greeted almost breathlessly.  
  
The little light-people gasped and huddled together upon hearing the creature speak.  
  
"I am sorry, I don't mean to frighten you," Anthony continued, lowering his timbre. "But may I ask, who – or what – are you?"  
  
"Erm, well," one of the little men began, breaking slightly from the huddle, "We are what you and your species, I think, refer to as 'The Fairies'."  
  
"Fairies!" Anthony exclaimed in delight, thus sending the little ones back into their terrified clump. He caught himself. "I am sorry again. It's just, you see, I have never met a real fairy before, and it is most fascinating!"  
  
"You do not mean to do us any harm, do you, Human?" asked one of the braver ladies, sheltering her trembling child in her arms.  
  
"Not at all, Ma'am! I promise!" And Anthony did.  
  
An older male fairy stepped forward. He exuded an air of authority, though Anthony knew not if it was founded. "Well, the creature seems genuine enough. I think we ought to get him to Bird Island straight away so that Xavier Caw may appraise him."  
  
The other fairies agreed, though they were hard-pressed to break from their huddle and do anything about the matter. You mustn't think this was because they were still afraid. No, in fact, it is just that they hardly knew what exactly to do at all! They stood around in quite a state of befuddlement for what seemed like an eternity until at last one of the craftier fairies pointed due west and shouted:  
  
"Look there! That may be our answer!"  
  
They all turned to find what remained of Anthony's perambulator, now laying some ten yards away in no less than a thousand pieces – the only tell-tale sign that anything remotely unusual had taken place in the park that afternoon.  
  
"Why, is it nothing but rubbish," the authoritative fairy declared.  
  
"Quite the contrary, sir," the crafty fairy replied. "All we need is some sticks, some grass, and some tree sap to hold it together, and we can make it into a boat in which to transport the Human to Bird Island!"  
  
A huge cheer went up among the little sprites, and Anthony himself could not help but clap, though he knew not exactly why. He couldn't imagine what could be on this Bird Island that would be of any importance to him. In no time at all, the fairies dispersed and went about their individual duties; collecting twigs, picking leaves and blades of grass, and extracting tree sap. They buzzed all around the messy pile of broken pram, and right before Anthony's very eyes, a most splendid and practical little boat sprang up from the rubble.  
  
Once completed, the fairies enticed the little boy to try it out, to test for sturdiness and what not. He warily placed one tiny foot inside, threw a cautious glance to the fairies, and then stepped in with his other foot. It was quite stable indeed, and he, being so small to begin with, barely made a creak.  
  
Again, the fairies cheered. Anthony stepped out of the makeshift boat momentarily so that the he and the fairies could transport it to the Serpentine. Fortunately, it was not far off. Anthony had landed in the grass on the east side of the Gardens, near the old dog cemetery – quite a distance from where he had first been carried off! But this made no difference to him, for he had yet no real concept of distances, as young as he was.  
  
At last, the curious convoy reached the edge of the Serpentine and cast off the Human inside the boat, heading due south towards the small and somewhat foreboding little island within. For the first time, Anthony found himself a touch afraid. Anything at all could be awaiting him there. So, he braced himself for whatever may come.  
  
When the little boat finally made its gentle landfall, the last speck of sunlight had finally dwindled from the sky. Anthony rather wished the fairies were still with him, if for no other reason than to provide a suitable light source, for the island was exceedingly dark. And Anthony did not care for the dark, as most young ones do not.  
  
But before he could get truly panicked, he was soon approached upon by a small group of crows. They looked at him oddly, just as the fairies had, and in the same vein seemed to not quite know what to do with him. They whispered to each other back and forth for a few moments, then one winked to another, and then all of them flew to the boy.  
  
"Come now," one crow demanded, "you must go see Xavier Caw."  
  
"I should love to," Anthony complied. "How shall I get to him?"  
  
The crows exchanged an amused glance, and some eyes were rolled. They looked back to Anthony. "Well, you will fly, naturally!"  
  
"Fly?" Anthony asked. "But I don't suppose I can do that."  
  
The birds exchanged another look, this one of a more puzzled nature. "You mean to say you cannot FLY?"  
  
"So many times have a tried, but alas, I have not been successful yet."  
  
A crow shook his head. "Has your mother weighed you, Little One?"  
  
Anthony thought about it. It seemed a reasonable deduction. "Yes, I imagine she has."  
  
The crows threw up their wings in a raucous. Anthony couldn't understand why this revelation should put them in such a state, but before he had a chance to ask, the crows surrounded him and grabbed hold of his tam o'shanters with their beaks. And with almost no effort at all were they able to lift the boy into the air and carry him into the depths of the island's forest. They took him quite deep indeed – Anthony was surprised to realize how big the island really was, but then all things look so much smaller when you are standing at a distance from them.  
  
Finally, they came upon what was a most decidedly conspicuous tree standing tall and intimidating among the brush. I say it was conspicuous because it did not match any other tree on the island, and furthermore, it had a wonderful glow emanating from every snag, notch, and hole. The crows led Anthony inside the biggest notch, relatively high up on the tree. The boy soon found that the lights came from thousands of glowworms slowly trudging around the interiors. He rather thought this an unnatural sight, for he would have imagined the birds would EAT the worms. But what he did not understand, silly boy, was that the very services the worms were presently providing was just what was keeping them from out of the bird's bellies! Clever creatures are glowworms.  
  
The crows flew Anthony further up the trunk of the tree and into a chamber where other crows were sitting in attendance to a most impressive and regal looking bird. He stood erect and imposing before Anthony as his crow guides lowered him onto the floor. The wise old bird looked the boy over, and I must say, he seemed rather at a loss.  
  
"What is this thing you bring me?" he asked the crows.  
  
"Looks to be a Human of some kind, sir," came the reply.  
  
The large bird's eyes widened. "You don't say!" He stepped forward. "Little One, tell me, what brings you to our den? And after Lock-Out Time no less!"  
  
Anthony replied carefully. "I am not quite sure, sir, for I was tossed into the Gardens by a mighty wind, and then the fairies came and told me I must see Xavier Caw..."  
  
"Why, that's me!" the bird cut in. "The fairies must have assumed you were a throw-back."  
  
"A 'throw-back,' sir?"  
  
"Yes. You see, child, sometimes when we send our thrushes to their expectant mothers, they are rather disappointed with what we have provided them, and they will cast the child back to the birds. 'Tis unfortunate, but to be sure, this has not happened in some time!"  
  
The crows let out several loyal "Harrumphs."  
  
"Oh, no, no," Anthony shook his head. "My mummy would not send me back. I assure you, 'twas a nasty storm that brought me here."  
  
Xavier Caw made a miffed expression. "This is quite strange. What else would a Human be doing here?" Suddenly, he clapped his wings together. "My grandfather might know!"  
  
Again, the crows nodded their support.  
  
"Indeed, he is the last of us in all of Kensington Gardens to ever lay eyes upon a Human," one crow asserted.  
  
"Come at once, Little One." Xavier Caw held out his wing to Anthony, and with one heave-ho lifted the boy several stories higher into the tree trunk into yet another, albeit smaller, chamber within the bark. There were not as many glowworms in here, and on the far wall of the little room was a little bed. Anthony believed it to look much like the little beds in his sisters' dollhouse. But there was no doll in the bed; nothing but an old and sickly looking bird, rather like an old and sickly version of Xavier Caw, scarcely able to flutter a single feather. And instead of crows, he had several finches attending to him.  
  
"Grandfather," Xavier Caw said softly, "You must wake up and see this for yourself."  
  
Slowly, the old bird opened its weary eyes. Once fixed and focused upon Anthony did they then become round as saucers. "Dear me...!"  
  
"Little One, this is my grandfather, Old Solomon Caw," Xavier Caw announced.  
  
Anthony gave a slight but respectful bow to the elder Caw.  
  
"It has been so very long," Old Solomon Caw began, struggling to sit up in bed, "since last I laid eyes upon one of your ilk. What is your name, Boy?"  
  
The child bit his lip. "Well, I have often heard my mother call me 'Anthony'. I do suppose that must be my name."  
  
"And your father," the old bird pressed on, anxiously, "What does your Mother call him?"  
  
Anthony thought some more. "Erm.....mostly, she calls him 'Love.'"  
  
The thrushes began tittering.  
  
"Do you not know his proper name, Anthony?" asked Solomon Caw. "What do his friends, his associates call him?"  
  
Now, Anthony had to think hard. He tried to picture his father. All of a sudden, his hand, rather automatically, reached in under his shirt and pulled out the Stargazer Lily that Father had given to him earlier in the day. Anthony grasped it firmly, as if he could squeeze out the answer to his question from the petals. He thought back to his many visits to his father at Kensington Gardens, and what the other park workers would call him when they needed his attention to something. Oh, so simple a name too. What was it? It was just on the tip of his tongue. Could it be this? No. What about....? No, not that either. Wait! Is that it? Yes, it was:  
  
"Pan."  
  
Several hushed gasps came from some of the older finches, and even Old Solomon Caw himself was moved to an upright position.  
  
"Pan......My little betwixt-and-between," he muttered. "Then it is true."  
  
"Sir?" asked Anthony and Xavier Caw together.  
  
"Child, you are to stay with us and learn the ways of the Birds and Fairies," Solomon Caw proclaimed, clumsily making his way out of bed. "I presume from how my grandson delivered you to me that your mother has weighed you and so you cannot fly."  
  
"This is true, Sir." Anthony now felt ashamed of this.  
  
Solomon Caw dismissed the notion. "'Tis of no matter. You will learn again soon enough."  
  
The old bird then began shouting orders to the finches and Xavier Caw. He was rather invigorated now – a far sight than how Anthony had first seen him.  
  
"But, dear sir, I do not understand..." Anthony stammered as Xavier Caw and several finches moved to carry him back out of the chamber. "What is to happen to me now?"  
  
Old Solomon Caw smiled a most delicious and mischievous smile. "Anthony Pan, we have been waiting for you." 


	5. TRAINING AND ANTICIPATION

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site), somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie - which can be read at gutenberg.net). Confused yet?   
  


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After a long break (couldn't work on it over the weekend – long story!), here's Chapter V......Keep the comments coming! Enjoy!  
  
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V. TRAINING AND ANTICIPATION  
  
Anthony drew back the bow steadily and licked away a bead of sweat that had accumulated above his upper lip. He had boasted so heartily that he could reach the target from such a ludicrous distance that if he were to miss, surely he would be laughed at called a fool. And this was not an option.  
  
The fairies sat still in anxious silence, some quietly hoping the arrogant boy would miss and therefore have to take his slice of humble pie for a change. But there were still a few who secretly wished he would hit it – if only because it was of most importance that he develop his skill to the fullest.  
  
With a final lowering of his brow, Anthony released the bow and watched with glee as it sailed 100 meters through the air, across the Serpentine, and straight into the old pram-boat waiting on the other side.  
  
All spectators cheered, even the little monsters who had wished him to miss. High up in a tree above the action, Xavier Caw sat and watched next to his frail grandfather, Old Solomon Caw. They exchanged approving glances.  
  
"You certainly do have the knack, Young Anthony," Xavier Caw called out.  
  
Anthony bowed gallantly. "Thank you, kind sir."  
  
The boy had grown somewhat indeed in the last few years, almost at an alarming rate, but currently he had reached somewhat of a plateau, standing not nearly five feet tall but for sure no longer big enough to fit in his pram-boat. Now he had to move about the waters of Kensington Gardens in a brand new boat built by the fairies for him from scratch, and presented to him on the most recent anniversary of his arrival to their lair (in actuality, they have no concept of real time as humans do, so this yearly celebration was more or less *assumed* – and in fact, they once celebrated it twice in three days!) He had also grown out of his tam o'shanters, which now served as a proper sail for his new boat. And with the help of the lady fairies, he was quickly outfitted with a suit made of the finest leaves, vines, and cobwebs in the Gardens. They had very nearly discarded the withered Stargazer Lily they had found around the boy's neck, but he insisted he be able to keep it. He couldn't explain why when they asked, so he shrugged and declared that it quite matched his new ensemble. And so, around his neck it remained, although tucked under his garments as always, should it ever get lost or caught on something.  
  
Now, you may be asking yourself at this point, But what of Anthony's flying, which Old Solomon Caw had promised to teach him? Can he not get around in this fashion? Alas, I am sad to say that he cannot...yet. Of all the skills he had mastered in his stay under the care of the birds and fairies, this was the one accomplishment that still eluded him. For, you see, he still doubted he ever had this ability, and only those who have the purest faith are able to fly.  
  
That night, a glorious feast was held for Anthony to honor his newest achievement. It was a most merry affair, attended by every creature in the park – including the swans, who normally found themselves quite above such carousing.  
  
But Anthony himself was too tired to attend for the duration of the party this time and soon stole away quietly towards the Bridge. He stood at the apex and looked out over the dark, peaceful Serpentine, and a touch Northeast towards Bloomsbury did his face turn, though he knew not precisely why. He could not decipher how long he had been in the birds' and fairies' care. In fact, he still did not understand why he was there, and what it was they were training him for. He had spent the better part of his first days there always trying to entice Old Solomon Caw into telling him what he had meant by "We have been waiting for you," but always would the old bird just smile and wink, and then say nothing. Eventually, Anthony just stopped asking. Or rather, he started to forget to ask. Recollections were but a dime a dozen to the boy these days.  
  
But none of these thoughts came to the Younger Pan as he stared over the silent waters. Instead of thinking, he just watched. And wondered. What was beyond these Gardens anyhow? And if he could fly, would he finally be able to touch those deliciously twinkling lights above him in the sky? That would be most thrilling of all! Especially *that* one – do you see it? The second one, to the right...  
  
"You have many questions, don't you?" came a familiar voice from behind him, quickly jolting Anthony out of his contemplations. It was Old Solomon Caw, who had managed to make his way up the bridge with the help of his walking stick (he was too old to fly anymore, you see).  
  
"I suppose I do, Old Solomon," Anthony confirmed, "but I forget them now."  
  
Solomon Caw nodded with an expectant grin. "That is of no great surprise. Come, take me on your shoulder, my little half-and-half."  
  
Anthony took the fragile old bird in his hands and propped him upon his shoulder as requested.  
  
"Thank you. Now, let us stroll."  
  
They came off the bridge and, at Solomon Caw's urging, headed Northwest up along the edge of the Serpentine.  
  
"How have you been feeling these days, Anthony?" Solomon Caw inquired.  
  
"'Feeling'?" Anthony's brow furrowed. "I am not sure I understand what you mean."  
  
"Are you happy?"  
  
"What's 'happy'?"  
  
Solomon Caw grinned widely. "Yes, yes, you are indeed quite heartless, aren't you?"  
  
"I suppose, if you say so, Solomon," came Anthony's reply with a shrug.  
  
"Indeed, it is this carelessness that you must hold onto steadfastly, my boy, if you are going to be of any use."  
  
"Use to what? Oh please, Old Solomon, please tell me what it is you wish of me!"  
  
"In good time," said the old bird. "You still have one more trial to carry out, and then all will be made clear to you. But first, there is something you must see..."  
  
It was at this point that Anthony realized the two of them had walked quite far north – much further north than Old Solomon Caw had previously ever allowed him. From the first day of Anthony's arrival, the Elder Caw had strictly forbade the boy to venture up too far towards the North on the West side of the Serpentine.  
  
"I have allowed you many liberties here, child," he had said, "but it is this one request of which I ask you must pay heed. Can you do this for me?"  
  
And Anthony had replied that he could. And he did. Until this night.  
  
"Oh, Solomon, I am too far North!" he exclaimed, frightened.  
  
"Tut, tut, it is perfectly alright," Solomon Caw assured him. "Look up ahead. What do you see?"  
  
It was so dark in this part of the Gardens that Anthony had to squint his eyes to make out anything at all. But the more he looked, the more his eyes adjusted upon the outline of a large, shiny monolith but just a few yards in front of them. He walked towards it warily, Solomon Caw urging him on. Anthony was so focused on this object that he did not even notice that a large band of fairies had crept up upon him as he moved forward.  
  
Soon, they found themselves standing before a grand statue. And on that statue stood the likeness of a small boy – a boy who looked so incredibly familiar...  
  
Anthony stood frozen.  
  
"Do you know who that is?" asked Solomon Caw.  
  
Anthony could scarcely believe it. "Me!"  
  
Solomon Caw smiled triumphantly and watched as the boy continued to stare in wonder, not noticing at all the tickling of several fairies upon his shoulders.  
  
Anthony gasped in delight. "Oh! I *am* a wonder, aren't I?"  
  
"That you are," Solomon Caw agreed, relishing in Anthony's sudden conceit.  
  
"I must be the cleverest boy of all!" he squealed.  
  
Suddenly, Anthony noticed that the statue seemed to be getting shorter...or rather, was *he* getting bigger? He looked down at his feet, and by jove! They were not touching the ground at all. He was flying!  
  
Again, the boy gasped and looked at Solomon Caw, still upon his shoulder. The old bird laughed heartily. "Congratulations, my boy! You have passed the final trial!"  
  
With this news, Anthony became as joyous as ever, and then, brimming to the core with Happy Thoughts, he let out an ear-piercing "WA-HOOOOOO!" and soared straight up into the air.  
  
Such a sudden burst caused Old Solomon Caw to topple off the boy's shoulder, but he was instantly caught and settled to the ground by the fairies. He wiped his brow with his wing. "That boy is indeed heartless, isn't he?" The fairies smiled and laughed.  
  
The whole park was now upon them, stopping and watching Anthony Pan fly as if he had never lost his ability to do so. Solomon Caw took a deep breath and nodded his old head.  
  
"It is time."  
  


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The fairy guide stood erect outside of Xavier Caw's chamber and waited for the signal. Her name was Sixem, because she had six wings instead of the standard four. She was quite a young fairy and was anxiously awaiting her very first call of duty. She came from a long line of fairy guides, so it was only natural that she would one day be called upon for an important mission such as this – but she had scarcely expected the mission to be quite so significant! She imagined it must have been because of her extra wings.  
  
Although she tried very hard not to, Sixem craned her long, fuchsia neck towards the chamber door so she could hear what was being said. But she could barely make out a thing, so she knew Old Solomon Caw must be talking. And he had all the most interesting things to say too! Finally, little Sixem could not resist any longer, and she completely abandoned her post so she could eavesdrop through the tiniest crack in the chamber door.  
  
Inside, Anthony Pan was sitting before Xavier Caw and his grandfather Old Solomon Caw. Whatever the elder Caw had been saying, it held Anthony completely rapt.  
  
"I understand this is a lot to heap upon your tiny shoulders all at once," Solomon Caw continued, "so I must ask if *you* feel ready."  
  
"Oh, it sounds positively marvelous, Solomon!" Anthony exclaimed. "It appears that it may be the greatest adventure of them all!"  
  
"That it is, young one, that it is," Solomon Caw affirmed. "And it has been calling for you for some time. It is, as they say, your destiny."  
  
Anthony's brow furrowed a little. "So, it is something I *have* to do? I am not sure I like the idea of that."  
  
"You mustn't think of it that way, Anthony," Xavier Caw chimed in. "It is the one place where you will not ever answer to anyone again. You will experience complete, unadulterated freedom."  
  
"Oh!" Anthony's eyes lit up. "That does sound much better!"  
  
"So then, are you ready?" Solomon Caw inquired again.  
  
"I think I should like it very much, sir," Anthony replied, wringing his hands as if about to be served a great feast. "Yes, I am ready!"  
  
Sixem very nearly tripped over her own feet attempting to scramble back to her post whence she saw the trio approaching the door. Thank Heavens she made it back in time as Xavier Caw stepped outside.  
  
"Sixem will lead you on your journey," Xavier Caw told Anthony. And then, with a trusting wink at the fairy: "You are in good hands."  
  
"How do you do, Sixem," Anthony greeted.  
  
"Oh, come on then!" Sixem exclaimed, tugging on Anthony's clothing. In no time, they were floating in the air.  
  
Anthony turned around quickly, before they were out of sight: "Goodbye, Solomon & Xavier!" The regal birds waved him off proudly.  
  
"Don't drag your feet, Pan! Here we go!" Sixem called out behind her. "Next stop: NEVERLAND!" 


	6. IT MUST ALWAYS BE OPEN

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site), somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie - which can be read at gutenberg.net). Confused yet?   
  


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Here's Chapter VI, hot off the presses!.......Keep the comments coming! Enjoy!  
  
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VI. IT MUST ALWAYS BE OPEN  
  
When the old grandfather clock in the hall finally struck six, it alarmed nobody. Wendy had been up for hours, preparing the Girls for school, and Peter had scarcely slept a wink the whole night anyhow. In fact, he could not recall a single peaceful slumber since that dreadful day in Kensington Gardens.  
  
After Wendy made sure Violet had the Girls properly washed and dressed, she headed for the kitchen to make some tea. There she found her husband sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the wall. She did not give it much notice – 'twas a common sight in recent years.  
  
In silence, Wendy prepared her pot of tea, and set a cup and saucer down in front of Peter. He looked at it for a moment, as if at first not recognizing it, and then he reached for the sugar bowl in front of him and proceeded to dump a ghastly amount of the stuff into his cup.  
  
"Not so much, darling," Wendy advised gently.  
  
"Got no sleep again last night," Peter weakly explained. "I need an extra something to get me through the day."  
  
Wendy did not feel like arguing. "Alright."  
  
Mornings were always like this. It was the cruel awakening after many splendid dreams of their son returning to them as good as new, only to open their eyes when the sun peered through the window and then realize that the nightmare remained their reality. Mornings were vicious and unforgiving. So, many a night Peter indignantly forfeited sleep altogether, if only to avoid the false hope of a heartening dream.  
  
But you mustn't think that this dire gloom followed the Pans around all day long. That would be too horrible. Fortunately, they had their work to keep them busy and their minds off of their loss – Wendy with her stories and other household responsibilities, and Peter with his duties at Kensington Gardens. Yes, he retained his post as Head Gardener at the park, despite what terrible memories the place held for him now. He was a man of obligation – and let's face it, there was hardly a more suitable job in the world for Peter Pan! But it was not just obligation that kept him going back to the Gardens – deep inside him, he felt that one day, whilst puttering around the tulips and bluebells, he may finally find his son.  
  
And it was this dubious and secret hope that kept the Pans going. It had been just over three years since little Anthony was snatched from them, but still they held out hope; they kept his nursery just as it had always been, they kept his favorite candy jar fully stocked, and Peter never removed the Stargazer Lily he had around his neck, like the one he gave Anthony, no matter how decrepit it had become. But most importantly, they always kept the window open for him – the very window from which Wendy had so often found Anthony about to climb out. Perhaps, one day, he should like to climb back in.  
  
Of course, the one other factor helping them get along was their devotion to each other and their daughters. There had never ceased to be enough love to go around amongst the four of them. That wonderful sparkle in Peter's eyes was still there – three great big sparkles actually...but there was a fourth sparkle that lingered in the back of Peter's eye, slowly fading but yearning so much to join the other four again. A sad little sparkle it was too.  
  
As Wendy sat at that kitchen table watching Peter take his tea, it never once crossed her mind to love him any less. And, as if somehow picking up on her non-thinking of this, he looked up from his cup to meet her gaze, and he smiled that old smile which told her that such a thing had never crossed his mind either.  
  
But sadly, it was only in mind and smiles that their love remained strong. An occasional squeeze of the hand or a warm embrace, a reassuring kiss here and there, was all they could bring themselves to offer each other in the way of any physical affection. They hardly ever turned to each other at night anymore. And whenever they tried, it was cut short so very prematurely out of sheer guilt. Oh how they longed to touch each other again, but in their hearts, they felt it utterly dishonorable to experience such personal pleasures for themselves when any number of awful things could be happening to their son at that precise moment.  
  
It was in this same vein that they discontinued going to parties and any other social gatherings where they would be expected to have *fun*. There was once a time when a party simply was not a party without the Pans. Even the worst little gossip-mongers in London who whispered most behind their backs would not bat an eyelash to set in ink Peter and Wendy's names at the top of all their guest lists! But the once-happy couple had attended nary a soirée since Anthony's disappearance – even at the gracious urging of their most loving friends and family. Again, how could they think of being careless and gleeful whilst their little boy may very well be experiencing the worst of tortures?  
  
So, the Pans trudged through their lives mechanically, fulfilling their duties to their work and their families, but little else. They did not realize it, but the Girls absolutely detested being in the house with them anymore, and would spend more and more time with their cousins away from home. Peter and Wendy rather thought they just liked being with their cousins and nothing more!  
  
After Peter left for work and Violet shooed the Girls off to school, Wendy remained at the kitchen table for a long time. I daresay she sat there all day, for it wasn't until the clock chimed four that she finally got up and left the room, weary and restless. She dragged her feet upstairs and meant to head towards the Girls' bedroom to collect their laundry, but she passed poor little Anthony's room on her way, its door shut, per usual, as if a shrine. Slowly Wendy felt her hand move towards the doorknob and turn it. The door opened with a creak from disuse and revealed to her the gaiety which was her son's brief life in every stitch of jungle-themed wallpaper and every carefully discarded toy on the floor. His crib, as always, lay empty. And the window, as always, stayed open.  
  
She followed her feet as they crept towards that window, and she looked out. Three years had she spent looking out that window in the same fashion – with the same forlorn longing. It was beginning to grate on her. She was feeling so very fed up with being miserable all the time. And as she looked out that window towards the stars which were just beginning their nightly twinkling, she had to say to herself, finally, that if Anthony were to be gone from them for three whole years, then there was scarcely any reason for him to come back now. The Fates had made up their mind. Anthony was gone. For good.  
  
It was this epiphany which made Wendy weep. For her, the hope was gone. It had in fact left her some time ago, but she was ever so desperate to hang on to it. Oh if only she had been able to hang onto the perambulator as hard...  
  
With a trembling hand, Wendy watched through bleary eyes as she grasped the window latch and began to draw it towards her. She bade one final farewell to her precious Anthony, wherever he may be, and pulled the window shut.  
  
'"NO!"  
  
Such a horrible shout came from behind her, and Wendy spun around, wiped her eyes clear, and saw her husband standing in the doorway, trembling. His eyes were large and impassioned.  
  
"What are you DOING?" he demanded.  
  
Wendy was so caught off guard to see her husband in such a state that she could scarcely form a word. But before she had chance to, Peter was standing rigidly beside her, thrusting the windows back open with such a force as to nearly knock them off their hinges.  
  
"The window must ALWAYS be open for him, Wendy!" he shouted. "ALWAYS!!!"  
  
"But Peter..." She tried to reason, but the thoughts and feelings were so new to her that she had not yet found the proper way to express them.  
  
But he cut her off again. "No! There are no 'buts'! This window must never be closed, do you hear?"  
  
"Peter, we can't keep going on like this..."  
  
He grabbed her fiercely by the shoulders. "DO YOU HEAR?!"  
  
"STOP IT!" she finally shouted back, breaking from his grasp.  
  
All at once, Peter remembered himself, and he was instantly ashamed for having manhandled his adoring wife so brutally. But he was never one for apologies, so instead he spun around and leaned against the windowsill, his head hung.  
  
Only once he appeared to be calm again did Wendy dare to speak at last. "Peter, listen to me...we cannot go on living like this any longer. It is simply unbearable."  
  
"Of course it is," Peter grumbled. "Should it *not* be unbearable when your own child is ripped right out of your arms?"  
  
"I know how hard it is, Peter, but..." Wendy continued, tears welling up again, "I am just so very tired. I cannot bear another day of hoping, and wishing, and praying, and searching, only to come up empty every time. It has been three years, Peter, and not so much as hair from head has ever turned up. At some point, we need to find a way, no matter how painful, to move on."  
  
She watched cautiously as Peter stood up straight. He turned to her with a soft glare. She braced herself, as she could not tell if he was wanting to hug her or strike her.  
  
"Now how do you suppose you would have felt had *your* parents said the same things after you left?" he asked most venomously.  
  
Wendy could hardly believe her ears. "Peter...I was gone for only a matter of months. Anthony has been gone for THREE YEARS!"  
  
He knew she was right, but he would not say so. He collapsed into the armchair next the window and pressed his palms to his eyes. If only he remembered how his own mother had barred him from the nursery when he tried to return to her from Kensington Gardens, his resolve may have been even firmer. But he had no memory of that now – just all the tormenting thoughts and dilemmas of a father who has lost a child.  
  
Wendy crouched down beside him and put her arms around his shoulders.  
  
"Peter," she whispered, "I am not suggesting that we pack up all his things and forget about him forever. We will remember him always, and we will grieve for his sweet face, forever and ever in our hearts. But please, Peter, can we not strive to be happy again? I do miss it so."  
  
Peter peered over his hands and looked hard into his wife's eyes, and he could see that it was killing her to feel these feelings and say the things she was saying.  
  
"Yes, Wendy, I do so want to be happy again too." His voice cracked as he spoke.  
  
"Then we can do it together, my love," said Wendy. "We mustn't be afraid of it if we have each other to turn to. If only for our daughters shall we try."  
  
Now Peter returned his wife's devoted embrace, and he wept.  
  
"He will always be our little boy, Peter. This shan't change that. Ever." 


	7. WELCOME HOME

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site), somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie - which can be read at gutenberg.net). Confused yet?   
  


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**IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT** I had to update this story a bit and add a new plot point to Chapter III, so I hope you will go back and read it again. The new point is also referred to in Chapters IV, V, and VI (hopefully the updated versions are showing up online now), but you need only skim those if you do not feel like re-reading the entire thing. But please do re-read Chapter III so that you are up to speed! Thanx!  
  
Here's Chapter VII.......Please, more comments! Enjoy! (  
  
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VII. WELCOME HOME  
  
The journey to the Neverland can vary depending on the traveler. If he is determined towards his destination, the trip can be quick and uneventful. On the other hand, if he were to stop and take in all the marvels around him, the trip could last for days.  
  
The latter is the route Anthony Pan decided to take, much to Sixem's consternation. Being a fairy, magical things were not to be savored and gawked at, for they were simply a way of life, just as grass and rocks are to us. Many an hour would Sixem have to spend waiting on Anthony whilst he had conversations with the Moon or blew kisses to passing comets (quite flirtatious are comets, you know!). And he simply had to pay a visit to the Old Sphinx, skim the peak of Mt. Everest, and wave good morning to Miss Liberty in New York Harbor. If it hadn't been for Sixem, he may very well have not gotten to Neverland at all!  
  
When at last the threshold had been breached – nearly knocking the wind out of poor Anthony – the first glimpses of the magical island lay before them. Anthony could feel the anticipation bubbling inside him like a dropped can of soda-pop! What sort of magnificent new adventures lay ahead but just a few miles away? Oh the boy could barely contain his giddiness.  
  
As they approached closer, it became more and more apparent the true state of the island, and Anthony's little heart began to sink as he laid eyes upon what he had been told was the supreme children's paradise. There were no rainbows, no fluffy pink clouds, nor any sparkling oceans. What stood before him was nothing but a dark, miserable, frozen tundra.  
  
"What is this, Sixem?" Anthony asked in a most worrisome voice.  
  
"It is the Neverland," she confirmed.  
  
Anthony shook his head in dismay. "No, no, it can't be! Oh, this is not what I expected at all!"  
  
"That is why you are needed," Sixem explained. "Without a boy to steer it properly, as a sea captain steers his ship, Neverland is nothing. Just a desolate speck in the subconscious of every child who ever dared and tried to dream of it."  
  
"And I am to bring it back to glory?"  
  
"You shall make it flourish once again, Anthony."  
  
It all seemed so troublesome and complicated. All Anthony wanted to do was be a boy and have fun, and now he was being handed this great responsibility.  
  
As if reading his mind, Sixem smiled reassuringly. "It won't be so demanding. Your carelessness and innocence will be the appropriate tonic to save Neverland. All you need to do is believe, have faith, and be a boy always."  
  
Well, that certainly did not seem tough enough a task. But how should Anthony play and be carefree in such a bleak world?  
  
The duo continued to coast around Neverland from the safety of the inky clouds. It seemed to Anthony that no other life at all must exist on this island. Except for a rather menacing looking pirate ship docked next to what once must have been a jungle, but even that looked wholly deserted.  
  
"Whomever shall I play with?" he asked his fairy companion.  
  
"You are sure to have companions shortly. As soon as the light returns to Neverland, little boys will again have a place to go when they fall out of their prams, for now there is Anthony Pan to guide them on their way!"  
  
"Oh, how lovely!" Anthony greatly delighted in this new role of Leader that he was to undertake. He would be Master of all things. He would never have to answer to anybody again. Even those officious old Caws!  
  
Sixem began to lead Anthony to his descent upon the island. Around petrified shrubbery and frozen trees, narrowly missing several icicles threatening to run him through, they flew into a small clearly wherein the middle lay a large, gnarled tree trunk, with nary a leaf on it. Sixem pointed and indicated this area as a proper landing site.  
  
As Anthony came to a stop upon the frosty pasture, a most extraordinary thing happened – for as his foot made first contact with the ground, the ice underneath and immediately around it disappeared entirely, rather akin to negatively charged iron shavings repelled from the like-charged side of a magnet. And then, upon lifting his foot back into the air, the spot where it had been instantly froze over once again!  
  
The enchanted response that this phenomenon elicited from Anthony was amusing to Sixem. "All your essence shall soon warm the heart of this troubled island."  
  
As Anthony carried on exploring his new trick, he was little aware of the bright glow beginning to emanate from the largest hole in the tree trunk standing in the center of the clearing. But he could hardly ignore the scores of fairies that quickly burst from the notch like so many frenzied bumblebees. Only their intention was not to sting but to greet. They buzzed about their new savior as if anointing him with their radiance – which also served as quite a welcome respite from the icy-blue gloom hanging over the forest. They were all speaking at once, some excitedly and some others more gravely, although Anthony could not quite understand them. But Sixem could.  
  
In the midst of all the more merry salutations, Anthony soon took notice of Sixem's sudden disturbed countenance, and he could not help but to be disturbed also, for whatever shall trouble a fairy must be most critical indeed. Anthony tossed her a quizzical look, but Sixem only grinned sheepishly.  
  
"Well, I am to be off now," she declared.  
  
"What? You are not staying?" Now Anthony found something palpable to worry about.  
  
"Oh, I cannot stay," said Sixem with a nervous giggle. "It's alright, you will be okay here."  
  
She began to back off from him rather conspicuously. She was clearly wanting to get away, and fast. Anthony was afraid there might be something wrong with him that was driving her off. The other fairies were as ever buzzing about, but his attention was solely on Sixem, who was moving further and further from him.  
  
"Wait!" he exclaimed, leaping into the air towards her. And no sooner had his feet left the ground than she had disappeared entirely in a puff of fairy dust.  
  
For the first time ever, despite the talkative fairies all around him, Anthony felt completely alone. 


	8. RENEWED HOPE

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site), somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie - which can be read at gutenberg.net). Confused yet? ;-)  
  
Here's Chapter VIII, another long one.......Please, more comments! Enjoy! (  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------  
  
VIII. RENEWED HOPE  
  
Peter was already exhausted when he arrived to work that morning. He and Wendy had kept frightfully late hours the previous night, but the job had to be done and done most hastily, should either one of them change their minds in the middle. And it must be confessed that such breakdowns did nearly occur quite often, for every music box that was wrapped in tissue paper, every stuffed animal or rattler placed in a duffel bag, and every section of crib dismantled, came with it so many stifled tears and hushed reminiscences. But they had completed their painful task, and when the attic door was shut and locked for the last time, the Pans smiled and embraced each other for being so brave and carrying through. They knew it was their first step to normalcy once again.  
  
And indeed, Peter did feel an encouraging amount of liberation as he walked through the gates of Kensington Gardens the next morning. The sun shone down on him as if a grand promise to many happier days ahead. He took in a deep breath, put a hand to the withered lily around his neck, and proceeded back into his daily routine. Anthony's memory would forever be on his mind, and no matter how many brutal storms erupted out of nowhere, they could never snatch those away from him.  
  
It was this day that the hyacinths on the East side of the Long Water, near the Fountains, needed Peter's extra special attention. A rather naughty little squirrel had nearly laid waste to them the evening before, and Peter was called upon to their consolation. Bearing his small satchel of tools, Peter took the scenic route to his destination – preferring the Bridge in lieu of Budge's Walk where he might catch a glimpse of the Statue on his way. You see, he had grown quite a bitterness towards that statue, for it not only reminded him of one the last moments with his son, but it also represented all things magical in the world, a subject no longer of much comfort to him.  
  
After a lovely walk around the Gardens to get to the wounded hyacinths, amiably tipping his cap to all the passers-by who still shot him disdainful glances for walking about unshod, he came upon the Fountains and was surprised – albeit pleasantly – to see the area quite unoccupied. He would favor it so, for he much rather enjoyed doing his job in peace and quiet.  
  
Peter came upon the pitiful, trampled hyacinths almost at once, tucked close in between several crocus beds, and he smiled at them empathetically. He set his satchel down, fell upon his knees, and set to work resurrecting the poor little flowers.  
  
Now, Peter Pan had always been quite well known for his remarkable powers of focus and concentration – it was almost yogi-like – but even more keen, especially of late, was his peripheral vision. It had saved him from many a scalping by an Indian and spearing by a pirate, and truth be told it had dulled somewhat as he grew older, but since Anthony's disappearance, it had been rather refortified. So, it was to this great knack of his that we give credit to his seeing that first mysterious little disturbance within the crocuses.  
  
He paid it little mind and did not even miss a single lump of soil as he quickly glanced over at the crocus beds in an impulse reaction to the rustling. It must have just been a breeze.  
  
But a moment later, when he was quite convinced he had seen it again, only then did he stop what he was doing. He peered at the crocuses sternly – perhaps that brazen squirrel had come back to finish its job on the poor hyacinths. But nary a petal nor a leaf moved a whit while under Peter's fierce scrutiny. Cautiously, Peter turned his attentions back to his task at hand, but he kept a close corner-eye on the crocuses. If there were anything there, he would certainly not let it make such a rube of him.  
  
He resumed his toiling among the hyacinths until......Yes! There it was again! And as lightning-fast as you could even think it, Peter's hand dove into the crocus bed and instantly plucked out the source of his annoyance.  
  
"AHA!" Peter crowed, quite pleased with how well his reflexes had held up over the years.  
  
Whatever it was he had caught, it not only fit wholly in his hand, but it was very light and tickled his palm. He brought his clenched fist closer to him and cupped his other hand around it so as to keep the whatever-it-was from getting away. Slowly he unraveled his fingers, and to his utter amazement, he found there, curled up in a frightened little ball, a fairy!  
  
This was all very amusing to Peter. He hadn't made the acquaintance of a fairy since he left his faithful Tinker Bell in Neverland. "Well, hello, little one! What are you doing skulking around the crocuses?"  
  
"I-I'm terribly sorry!" the fairy trembled. "I was just trying to get back home and got rather lost! I didn't mean to disturb you!"  
  
"It's quite alright."  
  
"Please, please don't kill me!"  
  
Peter's brow furrowed. "Nonsense! Why would you think I'd do that?"  
  
"You are a Human, aren't you?" the little fairy inquired.  
  
"I guess so, for the most part," Peter shrugged. He detested being lumped into such broad categories, such as "Humans."  
  
"Well, generally, Humans are so afraid of fanciful things like us fairies and would instantly crush us underfoot if they ever happened upon one!"  
  
This was so true, and Peter grinned. "You mustn't think all humans so ignorant."  
  
"Oh! I don't!" The fairy fell to his little knees in Peter's palm, as if begging contrition. "In fact, the little Betwixt-and-Between was always *most* generous..."  
  
"The what?" Peter stopped. That name, it sounded so familiar. But where on Earth had he heard it before?  
  
Immediately, the fairy caught himself, and clasped his hands over his mouth. He had just broken the very stringent rule about *never* discussing the Betwixt-and-Between with any outsiders of the Gardens...and especially not with any Humans!  
  
"Erm..." Oh, how was he to get out of *this* one? "I'm terribly sorry for having disturbed you, but I simply must be off to my home now..."  
  
"Not so fast," Peter said sternly, closing his hands a tad more to keep the fairy confined. "What is this 'Betwixt-and-Between' you speak of?"  
  
"Oh, oh, please, I shouldn't have said anything! The crows would have me for supper if they knew I had mentioned the Boy!" He gasped and clasped his mouth again.  
  
Peter's eyes widened. "What 'boy'?" The fairy only shook his head, terrified. Peter picked him up with his other hand and squeezed him tightly therein. "WHAT BOY?"  
  
"No, no, I mustn't!" the fairy squirmed and writhed under Peter's grasp.  
  
Losing all patience – not that he ever had much to begin with – Peter sprung up from the flowerbeds and marched toward the fountains. He leaned over the edge and held the fairy aloft.  
  
"If you do not tell me," he warned, "I shall have to drown you!"  
  
The fairy let out an ear-piercing shriek, quite a feat for a creature so small. "The Pan child, the Pan child!!!"  
  
Peter immediately felt his knees give out from under him, nearly sending the fairy and himself into the fountain together. "What is that you say?!"  
  
"The Boy, the Boy! The one the winds brought to us and the birds took care of!"  
  
Could it be? Peter felt his eyes welling up. "You...you saw him? My Anthony?"  
  
The fairy began to nod most adamantly. "Yes, yes! Anthony! That's the one! That's the one! Please! Oooooh..."  
  
It was like his dastardly dreams all over again. And how perfectly beastly of this little pixie to allow all those dark and hopeless reveries to resurface. "Take me to him."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Where is he? Take me to my son!"  
  
"Oh, but I can't, you see, he's –" He stopped dead in his tracks. "Your...'son' you say?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"Why, you are he! You are...Peter Pan!" The little fairy was awed.  
  
"Yes..." Peter confirmed, not entirely surprised that a fairy whom he had never previously met should know his name, but still: "How do you know that?"  
  
"How do I know? You can't be serious!" the fairy stated rather brazenly. "We all know you here, Peter!"  
  
"All of whom?" Peter was growing quite suspicious.  
  
But the fairy was growing a bit sad. "Don't you remember?"  
  
"I don't have many recollections before having first met my wife," Peter explained impatiently.  
  
"But, Peter, this has all happened before. You came here as a child, even younger than Anthony was. You're saying you don't remember the fairies or the crows? The thrush's nest, or Old Solomon Caw, who took you so graciously under his wing?"  
  
Peter had not heard that name uttered for practically an eternity, and upon hearing it once again, a wave of déjà vu suddenly hit him like tidal wave. "Solomon..."  
  
"And what of the little girl Maimie whom we built the little house for after she helped the fairy Brownie warm the heart of the Duke of Christmas Daisies? Don't you remember that?"  
  
Peter seemed a million miles away as he spoke. "I couldn't attend the ball because of ice on the Serpentine..."  
  
The fairy clapped his little hands. "That's right! That's right!"  
  
Peter's mind was a-whirl with ten thousand thoughts at once. All the memories, like lava in a long-dormant volcano, now spilling forth in both mighty bursts and tiptoeing waves. It was so overwhelming that he had to sit down. So many fragments, whizzing about his head as the fairies used to do, and he had to try and catch them one by one to make sense of any of it. He caught one memory, about a sail made from his nightgown. And another, when the dim-witted ducks tried in vain to teach him how to swim across the Serpentine (this made him laugh). He seized yet another one, of Old Solomon Caw explaining to him how he could never fly so long as he doubted it. But then, he *could* fly, and he would fly all about London, making many trips back to his mother. His mother...his beautiful mother. But now he was looking at her through bars. Bars? She had closed the window on him! He had been shunned forever, and so did he decide to leave...  
  
Peter's brow tightened, and with suddenly frightened eyes he looked upon the fairy in his hand. "They sent him to Neverland, didn't they?"  
  
The fairy nodded. "Yes, of course. It was inevitable, really."  
  
Peter's expression now turned to one of fierce determination. "Take me to Bird Island."  
  
"Oh, no, no, I can't!"  
  
"So help me, you *will* get me there! And you will take me to the Caws!"  
  
"Oh, please, no! I told you, they will banish me forever if they knew I told you anything!"  
  
Peter straightened and pulled back his free hand as if gripping a bow, his large palm aimed squarely at the little fairy's head. "Do not make me behave as a 'Human' towards you..."  
  
"Oh, alright! Alright! I will lead you to the Caws!" Truthfully, it would have been much easier and advantageous if the little fairy had simply remained mum and took his last rewards for the good of the whole community of Kensington Gardens. But fairies can only feel one emotion at a time, and this selfish fairy presently felt nothing but absolute fear for his life. And so he agreed to anything Peter asked of him.  
  
Without a moment left to waste, Peter sprang up from the ground and sprinted towards the Serpentine. Fortunately, he was on the side closest to Bird Island, which would make his trip less perilous. But still, he would have to come up with an inconspicuous way to get there. The park was still full of people.  
  
Finally, Bird Island was in view, and Peter crouched down towards the edge of the water, the fairy still in his hand. He scanned the surface, thinking hard.  
  
"How will you get across?" the fairy asked.  
  
"I'll swim if I have to."  
  
"Oh? And what am *I* to do?"  
  
Peter could not have cared less about this fairy's well-being, however, he was his only ticket to the Caws, so he did have to find a way to transport them both safely to the island. And so Peter continued to crouch and think. He thought so hard that he almost did not feel the nudge against his arm.  
  
He looked up and what he saw was a marvel of nature indeed. It was the biggest thrush's nest he had ever seen, brushing gently up against the shore.  
  
"It's Anthony's boat!" the fairy squealed, then scratched his head. "I rather thought we had destroyed the thing after he left. Hmph!"  
  
Peter was not in the frame of mind to be questioning how or why the boat was there, so he placed the fairy in the breast pocket of his shirt and began to board the boat. It was a tight fit – obviously intended for a small boy – but Peter made the best use of it he could. And with his hands, he began to paddle at a frantic pace toward the island.  
  
Once docked ashore, Peter leapt out, not even giving a second thought as to whether or not he should bring the little nest-boat ashore should he need a way to get back to the Gardens. He had other pressing matters on his mind at the moment. Hastily did the little fairy in his pocket lead him through the dense forest until at last they reached the mighty tree that still stood proud and foreboding in the heart of the island.  
  
Peter stood before the tree, quickly scanning each and every nook and notch for some signs of life. He looked down into his pocket to ask the fairy what to do next and was most irritated to see that the little bugger had flown away!  
  
Finally, Peter shouted out, "Solomon! Are you there? Come out, I must speak with you!"  
  
No response. "Solomon!" Peter cried. "Anyone at all! Please come talk to me! It's Peter! You must tell me about my son!"  
  
But still there was nothing, and Peter was growing angrier. As if channeling his younger alter ego, he began to jump and stamp his feet more childishly and throw dirt and twigs at the tree. "COME ON OUT HERE THIS INSTANT, YOU ROTTEN OLD CAWS!!!"  
  
At long last, Peter saw a vast ruffling of feathers emerge from the biggest notch in the tree, about ten feet above Peter's head, and four crows emerged from it.  
  
"Wha-wha-what is all this?" the biggest and most regal of the crows asked.  
  
Peter wasted no time. "Where's Solomon Caw?"  
  
The regal crow stiffened haughtily. "And who might you be to ask so audacious a question?"  
  
"Where is Solomon?" Peter pressed.  
  
"Solomon Caw has since passed, sir. I am his grandson, Xavier Caw."  
  
Peter's heart sank. "What am I to do now?"  
  
"Why is it that you seek Solomon?"  
  
"I've come for my son, Anthony. I am to bring him back home."  
  
Xavier Caw grinned. "So...*you* are The Father."  
  
"Yes! And I want my son back! I need to get to Neverland."  
  
The crows snickered. "My dear sir," Xavier Caw began, "we are not in the business of sending *grown-ups* to Neverland!" Now the crows laughed most heartily.  
  
"Stop that!" Peter demanded, but their laughter continued. "Stop it! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!"  
  
Xavier waved a wing dismissively. "We know, we know – Peter Pan. Yes, yes, *very* impressive." The crows rolled their eyes.  
  
"Listen now, you *will* tell me how to get to Neverland!"  
  
"Well, *Peter Pan*...why don't you just FLY?" another crow prodded. Peter threw a rock at him.  
  
"You miserable old squawkers..." Peter muttered. He was so frustrated now that he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He missed his son so much, and now he knew exactly where he was, but the only ones who knew how to get him there were laughing at him. He collapsed to the ground and began to weep in his hands.  
  
Xavier Caw held out his wings to the other 3 crows, bidding them enough. "I'm sorry, Peter, but we cannot help you. You are a man, and men do not belong in Neverland. If you are so desperate to find your son, then you must find another way."  
  
Peter looked up, his cheeks stained with tears. "What other way is there?"  
  
"This I cannot tell you either, but I can only advise you to look to your roots for the answer."  
  
"My 'roots'?"  
  
"You have forgotten much since you became a man. Now, if you are to see your son again, you must go back and explore all those things that you have put behind you in favor of an adult life. That is all I can say to you."  
  
And with that, the four crows again disappeared within the great tree. Peter stood up, still with so many questions on the tip of his tongue, but he knew the Caw had spoken his final peace. Now, he just had to make sense of it. 


	9. POWER STRUGGLE

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site), somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie - which can be read at gutenberg.net). Confused yet? ;-)  
  
Here's Chapter IX.......All comments welcome please! Enjoy! (  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------  
  
IX. POWER STRUGGLE  
  
Anthony tried hard to avoid making contact with anything, should his very touch give him away as he crept through the jungle. It had now progressed to such that his aura was leaving more permanent marks on Neverland. Already did the large tree with the underground chamber that he presently called home shine like a beacon throughout that side of the island. And the whole perimeter around the fairies' den where he spent so much his time was seeing considerable signs of life as the greenery now once again usurped the frost. Thus Anthony had to be most careful when venturing into less friendly territory, such as the Indian encampment and Mermaid's Lagoon. But worst of all, he must avoid The Pirate.  
  
At least, that is what he thought the fairies called him. He was still learning the fairy language, but they talked so rapidly and all at once that it was sometimes impossible for him to wrap his little head around it. But he was almost positive they used the word "Pirate" when warning Anthony of the most feared and villainous individual in Neverland. If he understood the fairies correctly, this scoundrel had taken reigns over the island in recent years, sinking it further into the cold oblivion that it was at present. They said he had an iron claw instead of a hand, and eyes that turned blood-red when he gutted you with it...  
  
For as many warnings as the fairies had beseeched upon Anthony, he had an overwhelming desire to seek out this dastardly fiend, just to see how much, if at all, these words of caution were warranted. Anthony felt no fear – 'tis amazing how little fear a child will feel when he has only an idea and not the real threat actually staring him down in person. And it was this recklessness that led Anthony towards the forbidding Pirate's Cove that night.  
  
He stepped lightly, floating mostly in midair, to evade brushing up against anything and setting it aglow with his essence. But the forests were so thick that such a feat was truly for naught, as with every careless touch, he left behind his telltale mark, rather like smears of fresh green paint that dripped off of the leaves. No matter how hard he tried, he could not fully slip through the jungle undetected, for the island has eyes – and the evil Pirate had even more of his own.  
  
And the footprints implanted among the mostly frostbitten shrubberies are what these eyes followed, all the way up to the edge of the Cove where the ship was docked – or rather, frozen solid within the iced-over waters – and where Anthony was spying from within the bushes.  
  
Anthony had just begun to formulate a plan for boarding the ship when, suddenly, a giant and weather-beaten hand shot out from behind him and around his mouth. In no time at all, several other large hands had a hold of every other available part of his person. Attached to the hands were many fits of cackling, and then a face – oh, a most dreadful and depraved face – which rested on Anthony's tiny shoulder.  
  
"Sooooo, you want to see the ship, do ya?" came the even more debauched voice. "Alright then, let's go see the ship!"  
  
And with a loud "HURRAH" did this band of degenerates march little Anthony through the brush, down to the Cove, and onto the menacing pirate ship. The boy thrashed and fought at first, but he quickly realized that they must be taking him to The Pirate, and he ceased to struggle. He was perfectly confident that he would be able to get away from these brutes if he put forth the effort, but so intense was his curiosity to see what this Pirate was like that he held off until he felt it necessary to fight.  
  
And so his captors led him onto the ship and towards the captain's quarters. Only three eventually accompanied him inside – the enormous one holding him and two others for back-up who opened the cabin door for the former. The room was quite dim, lit by only a few small candelabras distributed to strategic places within. Anthony almost did not see the dark figure lurking in the shadows on the other side of the room, his back to them. All he could make out was a black silhouette – everything black, from his scuffed leather boots, his ill-fitting trousers, the loose shirt- sleeves, and, most grotesquely, the tightly-curled black hair, hanging down upon his back like a huge pile of black silkworms being ruthlessly dangled from a great height.  
  
Anthony kept his eyes glued to the dark shape as it slowly began to turn around. And thus followed a pair of the coldest, bluest eyes – bluer than any flower petal or pool of water that Anthony had yet seen. But they were nearly buried under the grimacing brow, capped off incongruously by a most self-confident grin. And then, finally, there it was – glittering brightly against his black visage was the iron claw where his right hand should have been. But it did not look to be so much like a claw as a...  
  
"Hook," the dark man introduced. "Captain James Hook."  
  
His voice was like warm molasses oozing over sandpaper. He half-bowed to his little guest, but it was more mockery than real respect. He straightened again and let out an amused huff. "A Boy. Marvelous." He was an imposing figure indeed, but Anthony was rather taken by his own sense of purpose and arrogance.  
  
He began to walk towards him, stroking his iron claw. "And what may I call you, young sir?"  
  
A grin akin to the Pirate's spread across Anthony's lips. "You may call me...Your Worst Fears!"  
  
Instantly, his three captors began to guffaw loudly, and even the dark Pirate himself had a chuckle.  
  
"Oh, indeed!" the Captain said facetiously. He turned on his heel and began to leisurely pace about the cabin. "My men tell me that you mean to, shall we say, 'overthrow' me."  
  
"It must be done," Anthony responded calmly. "And it shall be."  
  
Hook snickered again. "Oh, my good lad, it would be a lie if I said I had not dreamed for a day like this to come, when someone would arrive in Neverland to finally challenge me. It has become so frightfully boring having everyone do as I wish that I daresay sometimes I pray for a mutiny!"  
  
He laughed again, but the other three pirates did not. They would not dare to.  
  
"However," Hook continued, leaning up against a desk across the room, "I have grown quite comfortable with my life here in recent years, and very pleased with the work I have done." He motioned towards one of the many cabin windows to the gloom and misery outside. "And I do not intend to let some snotty-nosed brat barge in here and attempt to undo all of it."  
  
Anthony thrust his nose into the air haughtily. "It will happen, sir, so you may as well get used to the idea."  
  
"My, you are unabashed, aren't you? Reminds me of a little monster I once knew, long ago..." Hook let his mind wander for a moment but then quickly brought it back to the present. "But, no, I am sorry. I cannot let you negate my authority here."  
  
"And what do you suppose to do about it, Captain?"  
  
Hook brought his claw up to his chin in an exaggerated show of pondering. "Well, I could kill you of course..."  
  
Anthony figured as much.  
  
Hook's ice-blue eyes then lit up. "BUT – I may have a proposition for you." He began to walk steadily, straight towards Anthony, and when he was but a foot from him, crouched down to his level. "How about if you were to join me?"  
  
"Join you?"  
  
"Yes! Become a pirate, live the life of leisure and thievery. The work is not so hard and the rewards are bounteous!"  
  
"You mean I am to be another one of your subordinates?" Anthony frowned, shooting disgusted looks at the three pirates.  
  
Hook was willing to compromise. "You can be co-Captain if you like!"  
  
But Anthony had heard quite enough. In one swift movement, he leapt from the floor and with all his might smacked Hook in the chest with his feet, sending the wicked man hurtling back towards his desk. Anthony's legs followed through upwards until his arms had slipped gracefully out of his captor's grip and allowed him to float, upside-down, to the ceiling. And before the pirate knew what had happened, Anthony pushed off the ceiling, dove down once more, and glided underneath the pirate's legs, past the other 2 pirates, and out the cabin door.  
  
Hook grappled to his feet quickly and emerged from his quarters, fuming. Anthony was still buzzing about the ship, taunting the other pirates on deck.  
  
"SHOOT HIM!" Hook roared. And several tried, but Anthony dodged every bullet – even luring one shot towards another pirate across the deck who was promptly hit by his own shipmate's fire.  
  
Hook let out a terrible grunt of frustration. Anthony flew up toward the crow's nest and looked down at the infuriated pirate one last time before escaping into the jungle. He bowed gallantly.  
  
"'Til we meet again, Hook!" And with a mocking laugh, he disappeared among the trees and brush.  
  
Hook growled and struck his claw into the nearest wooden mast. "Oh, how I loathe children..." 


	10. RETRACE AND RETURN

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site), somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie - which can be read at gutenberg.net). Confused yet? ;-)  
  
Here's Chapter X.......Comments welcome please! Enjoy! (  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------  
  
X. RETRACE AND RETURN  
  
Peter stumbled quite clumsily through the front door, nearly knocking over Violet, who was at present carrying a tea tray into the kitchen.  
  
"Oh!" she cried. "Why, Mr. Pan, you are soaked to the bone!"  
  
Peter was all too well aware of this. As expected, the thrush's nest had floated away from Bird Island after Peter arrived there, so he had been forced to swim across the Serpentine to get back to the mainland of the park. This left him most disgruntled indeed.  
  
"Thank you, Violet, I hadn't noticed," he muttered. But he soon regained his purpose. "Where is Wendy?"  
  
"She has just gone up to her bath, sir."  
  
It may have been just as well. Peter should not want to disturb his wife with the alarming news just yet, lest he fail in his search for a way to Neverland. There is nothing so heartbreaking as a mother who is helpless to save her own children from a known threat, thus Peter remained mum for the time being.  
  
He climbed the stairs toward the second floor, repeating Xavier Caw's words to himself over and over: "Look to your roots... explore all those things that you have put behind you..."  
  
It was terribly vague, and Peter scarcely knew where to even begin. His own roots, now freshly remembered, were that he had flown to Neverland on his own with Tinker Bell's guidance. No doubt Anthony took the same path.  
  
Tinker Bell. Was she the key? Did she perhaps lead Anthony to Neverland as she did Peter? No, Peter reasoned, Not without telling me.  
  
Perhaps Xavier was referring to Peter's life prior to Kensington Gardens – the mere seven days he spent in the care of his parents. But what could any of that have to do with getting to Neverland. Peter dismissed those considerations and chose to mull over the second part of the riddle: "All those things that you have put behind you."  
  
Did Xavier mean this literally or figuratively? Not one for symbols and metaphors, Peter decided to delve into the literal meaning of the phrase. But what does one actually do with all the things they put behind him? Well, only the previous night did he and Wendy put their painful loss of Anthony behind them by moving all his belongings into the attic. It seemed as good a place as any for Peter to start. Even if he found nothing, perhaps a new idea would occur to him in the process.  
  
And thus Peter unlocked the sacred door – a deed he did not expect to execute again so soon – and ascended the attic stairs. Inside the small, eerie room with the low ceiling, it was everything the stout little walls could do to keep erect amongst the scores of boxes, old pieces of furniture, and other antiquities bearing down on them. Peter could only look about him in bewilderment. At the front of the room were all of Anthony's things, as they were the last to be stored away. Peter figured it wise to wade through all of the more recent memories and make way towards the deepest recesses of them to search for his answer. And so he began to slink around stacks of boxes, climb over discarded dining chairs, duck underneath rusted chandeliers, until he was in the abyss. Now he was surrounded by dollhouses, rocking horses, and wardrobes overflowing with moth-eaten dresses – all of Wendy's childhood possessions. He tried to keep his mind active and alert by exploring these old relics. He even sat upon the rocking horse and pitched to and fro as he tried to come up with *something.* He eyes wandered toward the far wall, which he could just see over a small bookcase, and it made him stop and take notice for a moment.  
  
There was a shelf toward the top of that wall, and on it a lone hatbox. It was a most nondescript hatbox too, however, something about it called to his attention, like the light jingling of bells. Taking whatever intuitions he could get a hold of, he rose from the rocking horse and began to make his way to that back wall.  
  
It was nearly eye-level with Peter and was very light, so he had no trouble taking it off the shelf and setting it on the floor in front of him. The box was marked "P.P." in big bold letters, so Peter figured it had something to do with him, which was an encouraging sign.  
  
And so, Peter lifted the lid, and the moment he saw the panpipes and neatly folded trousers made from vines and leaves, he realized at once that this box contained all the personal effects he had arrived from Neverland with. How extraordinary, Peter thought, and he was instantly taken with revisiting all these long forgotten belongings of his. Also in the box was the headdress the Indians had given him during his and Wendy's wedding ceremony, his knife, and a retractable telescope. He gave his old pipes a brief whistle, for old times sakes, but he was most intrigued by his old suit of leaves. He took it out of the box and cautiously unfolded it – Wendy had taken so much care to preserve it in the first place – and held it up in front of him. He could not believe how small it looked to him now! It was still in immaculate condition; why, even his tiny pockets were still...  
  
Ah, but wait, what's this? Peter had slipped his index and middle fingers – the only two that would fit – into one of the small pockets in the rear of his trousers only to happen upon what felt like a small ball of fabric. In between his two fingers, he was able to pluck this object out, and it appeared to be a tiny satchel, no bigger than your nose, tied off at the top with a vine. He couldn't imagine what it was, as he did not remember ever carrying such a thing on his person. He did, however, think it rather looked like what the worker fairies used to carry on their backs when transporting goods from one den to another.  
  
Peter simply had to find out what it was for, and he tore the vine off and spread the opening apart and looked inside. What he saw therein made his face light up in such a way it had not done since the birth of his children.  
  
Everything around him seemed to disappear in an instant, and he leapt from his seat on the floor and into the air, promptly hitting his head against the low ceiling. But he scarcely felt it at all, and he ran from the room, knocking over countless boxes and old hat racks on the way, with his little bundle of hope gripped tightly in his hand.  
  
"WENDY!" he shouted as he burst through the attic door. Ah, yes, she was taking a bath. Peter quickly scurried down the hall towards their bathroom. He swung open the door to where Wendy had been languishing among the soapy bubbles but was now trying to keep her skin from being scared right off her bones!  
  
"What?! What?!" she grappled, removing the hot face cloth from over her eyes.  
  
Peter stood in the doorway like a firecracker ready to take off. "Wendy, you won't believe it! You simply won't! Well, then again, you might, I dunno, it's been so long, but once I explain it, you are SURE to be–"  
  
"Peter, Peter! Please, do calm down!" Wendy implored. "What is it?"  
  
Peter closed the door behind him and crept up to the bathtub, kneeling down before it. "Wendy, I know where Anthony is."  
  
He waited for her reaction, but there was hardly any. Just a slight lowering of her brow. "What?"  
  
"I'm telling you, I know where he is, and I know how to find him!"  
  
Wendy began to shake her head sadly. "Peter, please, do not do this to me..."  
  
"It's the truth, I swear it! He has gone to Neverland, Wendy, Neverland!" Peter's eyes were so full of hope. "The birds and fairies took care of him in Kensington Gardens, just as they had me, and then they sent him to Neverland!"  
  
Alas, Wendy had since lost her faith in the strange and magical, so it was dreadfully difficult for her to swallow what Peter was feeding her at the moment, and she began to weep. "Peter, please stop. I don't want to hear anymore of this nonsense."  
  
But Peter was determined. He set the satchel down on the floor and jumped right into the bathtub with Wendy, fully clothed. He placed his hands on the edge of the tub on either side of her and stared her straight in the eye.  
  
"Listen to me! When he was taken from us, he landed in another part of the park. And the fairies found him and the birds took care of them, and all of this happened before, to ME!"  
  
Wendy could scarcely believe her ears. But she had always trusted Peter so unconditionally. "You...You're serious, aren't you?"  
  
"With my own eyes I saw them, Wendy, and I spoke with them, and they told me themselves that he is in Neverland!"  
  
Again, Wendy started to weep, but this time for a different reason. "You mean...then he IS alive?"  
  
"Yes!" Peter was enormously relieved that she was starting to believe him. He took her hands in his. "Yes, he is alive, my love, and we must go there and bring him home!"  
  
"But how, Peter? Neither of us remembers how to fly or anything at all!"  
  
A mischievous grin crawled across Peter's face, and only now did he reach over and retrieve the satchel from off the floor. He held it out to Wendy, who took it with a quizzical expression. Carefully, she opened it, and she gasped when saw that it was nearly overflowing with fairy dust!  
  
"Peter! Where did you get this? From the fairies in the Gardens?"  
  
"No, they wouldn't help me. I found this in one of the pockets of my old suit from Neverland. Tinker Bell must have slipped it to me before we left after the ceremony at the Indian camp!"  
  
Indeed, it was so like Tinker Bell to do such a thing too. If there existed any excuse she could provide for him to someday return to Neverland – and to her – she would find it.  
  
Wendy continued to stare at the shimmering substance in disbelief. "This can't be real. It just can't be."  
  
Peter lifted her chin so that her eyes met his. "It is real, Wendy. We are going back to Neverland to find our boy. Tonight!"  
  
* * * *  
  
"But I don't understand, Mummy," the Girls kept saying to Wendy as she tucked them snugly into bed. Peter stood close by, in the doorway.  
  
"Don't you worry about a thing," Wendy assured them. "Daddy and I need to go somewhere and do something very important, but Violet should look after you."  
  
"What do you need to do?"  
  
"I can't tell you that just yet, but I must ask you not to be alarmed if we are gone for more than a few days."  
  
"A few days?!" The Girls sat up straight in bed.  
  
"Now, now, come on," Peter strode up to them. "All will be explained when we get back. We shall bring home a wonderful surprise for you."  
  
This made The Girls smile, and they lay back in bed, but not before Peter gave them both a farewell kiss on their foreheads. He backed away and allowed Wendy to do the same. Peter gave one last wave to his daughters before bolting from the room, but Wendy stood by for an extra moment to regard her lovely daughters. Then, she left the room as well.  
  
She found Peter in their bedroom, crouching before their open window, surveying the satchel of pixie dust. Wendy stood in the doorway and surveyed her clothing. She had slipped into just a simple white cotton nightdress – what she had long come to figure as appropriate attire for a trip to Neverland. He hair was pulled back in a long, loose braid.  
  
"Do you think this will be alright?" she asked Peter, who hadn't even changed at all, despite soaking himself twice that day.  
  
Peter looked up at her, but only motioned for her to shut the door. Wendy obliged him giddily. The whole affair was so frightfully thrilling! She scampered over to Peter and crouched down onto the floor next to him. It was like they were children again.  
  
Wendy watched as Peter slowly poured half the contents of the satchel into the palm of his hand. The other half he poured into Wendy's hand. He looked at her with that sparkle of adventure she loved him for so much, and he raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Ready?" he asked.  
  
"I have waited for three years," she responded breathlessly.  
  
Together, they stood up, and they remained still for a rather long, doubt- ridden moment. What if it didn't work? Then, on a silent count of three, they both blew their handfuls of fairy dust into the other's face, and their minds lingered on their mutual Happy Thoughts – of finally seeing their son again, and doing so together. It was no time at all before they saw their feet no longer touching the ground, and they both gasped merrily. It had worked!  
  
Wasting no time, they clutched each other's hand and floated out the window and into the still London night. They stopped just outside the window and gazed up at the Heavens.  
  
Wendy squeezed Peter's hand. "Do you remember how to get there?"  
  
Peter assessed the stars, then looked at her. "Second to the right and straight on 'til morning."  
  
Wendy smiled. She knew that was all it would take for him to find his way back. And so, with their hands still tightly clenched, they flew off into the night. 


	11. THE FATHER'S HOMECOMING

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site), somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie - which can be read at gutenberg.net). Confused yet? ;-)  
  
After a nice long weekend break, here's Chapter XI.......Comments! Comments! Please! Please! (  
  
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XI. THE FATHER'S HOMECOMING  
  
As they sat resting on a cold and stale cloud, Peter gazed down upon a world that he no longer recognized. Had he known his happy and hopeful journey would bring him to this, he may not have been able to fly at all. But the Happy Thoughts of he and his Wendy finding their son again and bringing him home sustained their flight the whole way. It was amazing how it all came back to Peter so easily. They barely missed a mark – save for Peter's brief stopover to Kensington Gardens, where he swooped down upon the Caw's tree and taunted them with his arrogance in finding his own way to get to Neverland.  
  
"That was not very polite, Peter," Wendy had scolded as they flew away. But Peter only smiled that enigmatic smile of his, and so infectious was his smile that she had instantly forgiven him.  
  
But now, after laying eyes on his once precious home, Peter's smile seemed like a distant memory. What had happened? Truth be told, had Peter seen the island but a day before, he would have undoubtedly been much more depressed. Thanks to his son, Neverland was starting to boast small yet revitalizing signs of life. The waters were no longer one continuous and stagnant sheet of ice but were now broken up into small floating chunks of ice in still waters. And even from the sky, one could make out tiny yet quite conspicuous dots of green sparkling magically among the chilly blue that occupied the majority of the land. (But Peter did not know his son was responsible for this, and he rather thought these minute flickers of life were perhaps due to his own presence.) On the whole, though, Neverland remained not a dreamscape but a nightmare.  
  
Peter found this quite unacceptable and immediately became taken with a sense of obligation – to find some quick answers and even quicker remedies for Neverland's gross malaise. Wendy had to remind him that they were not there to fix Neverland, but to find their boy – his disappearance really the *only* problem needing to be fixed, as far as she was concerned. But Peter, stubborn as he was, still desired a solution. He dared not to inquire to the Sun – who was in a deep sleep behind the gloomy clouds, as is the natural way of things – for to wake him when he should not be woken is to play with fire indeed. So, he scanned the surface of the island, searching for any hints.  
  
"Where shall we start?" Wendy asked.  
  
"I don't know," came Peter's mumbled response.  
  
"Well, where did you go when you first came to Neverland?"  
  
Peter's reply was decidedly agitated. "I don't know that either."  
  
Wendy bit her lip. "Then, what does your heart tell you?"  
  
His heart told him nothing, for it was too occupied in weeping at the moment. He sighed deeply and surveyed the land more intently. If he were a boy again on his very first voyage to Neverland, where would he go?  
  
"We ought to find the fairies," was Peter's ultimate decision.  
  
And so the couple took their first tentative steps off the frigid clouds, which was quite a reprieve, and floated down towards the barely discernable forest. So too was Wendy quite distressed to see Neverland, a place holding so many dear memories in her heart, looking so withered and cruel. They flew past the Indian camp, where they could just make out the tiniest of fires struggling to stay lit and keep its many unfortunate inhabitants warm and provided for. They sailed across the mermaid's lagoon, with nary a mysterious creature in sight. Over the Pirate's Cove, Peter sneered as he threw a wary glance at the Jolly Roger, swaying from side-to-side between two large plates of ice. He and Wendy silently prayed that Captain Hook had not yet gotten a hold of Anthony.  
  
Their hands tightly bound together, the Pans swooped down among the trees of the jungle. Peter felt the leaves slide against his fingers and he flew past, wet and cold, and very uninviting. Peter guided Wendy as he made a sharp turn back toward the Indian camp, where he remembered the fairies' lair resting in close proximity. Between the dense shrubberies were they able to finally perceive the smallest glimmers of green and gold, peeking out from between the tree branches like mischievous children. Soon, he turned to Wendy and pointed straight ahead, and in no time were they both greeted with the first lovely sight they had beheld since arriving as the great tree where the fairies lived stood glowing before them as if awaiting their arrival.  
  
They landed on the ground in front of the tree, the warm, soft grass an immense relief between their bare toes. And you can imagine the young couples surprise when, straight away, a dozen or more fairies came out to welcome them! Perhaps they really *were* awaiting them!  
  
Much as they had done Anthony, the fairies buzzed all about Peter, talking at once and making broad gestures. A few other younger fairies fluttered around Wendy, as if surveying this strange creature whom they did not wholly recognize. Peter smiled and giggled childishly, having forgotten how it was to be completely admired and worshipped by all mystical beings in this strange little kingdom. Wendy watched with a tingle in her heart, knowing how her husband had missed this place so. Every so often, during the early days of their marriage, she would awake in a cold sweat, having dreamed that Peter had changed his mind and gone back to Neverland. But these thoughts only ever crept into Wendy's nightmares; never in her conscious thoughts. Not even now.  
  
Peter carried on happily receiving this downpour of love from the fairies until they were all suddenly rapt by the most glorious luminescence now radiating from the great tree. And within this radiance, Peter and Wendy instantly identified the Fairy King and Queen. They floated, most distinguished, toward them, the King holding his Queen's tiny hand aloft. Upon seeing Peter, the Queen's eyes gave off a most affectionate twinkle.  
  
"Peter," she cooed in a golden voice. "We are so happy to see you again." Both she and the King regally bowed their heads to him. Peter returned the gesture. The fairy monarchs then turned their attention to Wendy.  
  
Peter took his wife by his side proudly. "Oh...surely, you remember *my* queen, Wendy?" Indeed they did, and they bowed respectfully to her as well, Wendy answering with a polite curtsy.  
  
"We suspected that you might come back here," stated the King.  
  
"Yes," Peter answered gravely. "To find my son. Have you seen him?"  
  
"Naturally," replied the Queen. "A most charming boy. You two should be proud to have created such a beguiling child."  
  
"Thank you," Wendy responded automatically, not quite knowing how much she really meant it.  
  
"Where is he now?" Peter inquired.  
  
"Oh, we cannot tell you, Peter," the King said.  
  
Peter stamped his foot, suddenly awash with frustration. "I am tired of hearing that! Why can't anybody ever give me a straight answer?!" Wendy put a hand on his shoulder to calm him, but the fairies appeared unaffected.  
  
"Peter, you cannot expect us to help you to take away the one salvation that this island has been sorely lacking these past years," the King explained.  
  
"What *has* happened here?" Peter asked, his interest in this subject piqued anew.  
  
"Since you went away to grow up, the island decayed into a great state of disarray," the Queen said. "From the instant your wonderful soul left our atmosphere, it was seized right out from under us most cruelly, with little hope to regain it. Until now."  
  
"Seized? How? By whom?" Peter asked.  
  
"Hook," came the King's dreadful reply. Peter's jaw tightened. "From the moment he got word of your imminent departure, he carefully laid plans to take over everything around us. After you left during the Indians' wedding ceremony, he and his men quickly ambushed us all. Now everyone and everything lay waste and subservient to his dastardly whims."  
  
"That monster," Peter muttered under his breath.  
  
"So, you see, Peter," the King continued. "We need your Anthony here, with us, if Neverland is to ever have any hope of crawling out from underneath Hook's thumb."  
  
Peter shook his head in disbelief. "Had I known...if I had even suspected...I never would have..."  
  
He felt Wendy's hand slip around his arm. He looked up to meet her troubled gaze. Never would have what? Oh, how could he even think such a thing?! Peter shook the suggestion from his mind. Wendy breathed a silent sign of relief. Her worst nightmare had nearly come true.  
  
"You made your decision, Peter," the Queen said. "You knew you would have to make a great many sacrifices in doing so. This is just but one of them."  
  
"How can you say that so flippantly?" Peter snarled. "Have you ANY idea what my wife and I have been through the past three years?"  
  
Now the proud King became impatient. "Have YOU any idea what WE have been through the past three years?"  
  
Peter said nothing. There was nothing *to* say. They were right. As selfish as he was, he could not possibly demean their pain and suffering in favor of his own. So, he remained mum, and Wendy spoke up for him.  
  
"We are terribly sorry, Your Majesties," she pleaded, her eyes welling up. "Peter did not mean to be thoughtless. We just miss our son so very much."  
  
"We are not unsympathetic to your predicament, my dear," the Queen said. "But the lives and well-being of a great many more are at stake here on this island. Your boy is alive and well. And happy. Is it not enough just to know this?"  
  
Wendy could feel herself beginning to sob, though she tried to suppress it. Peter put his arms around her. They were silent for a long moment. Again, the fairies were right. As long as they knew Anthony was all right and doing something for the Greater Good, who were they to be so stingy? But this did not make the pill any easier to swallow.  
  
Finally, Peter said: "May we at least see him?" He stole a quick glance to Wendy. "Before we leave?"  
  
The fairies smiled broadly. "Yes, of course you may."  
  
"But you can't tell us where he is," Peter reaffirmed.  
  
They shook their little heads. "No, you must find you own way to him. And you must not try to take him away. All the island will have its eyes on you, so use caution."  
  
Peter and Wendy nodded.  
  
"Maybe Tinker Bell can help us," Wendy whispered to Peter.  
  
"Oh, no," the King interrupted, catching the couple off-guard.  
  
"What?" Wendy asked, amazed that they should be able to hear her.  
  
"Tinker Bell could not possibly help you," said the King.  
  
"No, indeed." The Queen shook her head sadly.  
  
"Why? What's wrong?" Peter asked, his heart starting to pound in his chest.  
  
The King grinned apologetically. "The fairy Tinker Bell is in exile."  
  
"Exile? For what?"  
  
The monarchs exchanged a look as if not quite sure if they should tell him. But the King gave a reassuring nod and pressed on. "After you left, and Hook took over, I am sad to say that Tinker Bell went quite mad. She began taking frenzied trips back to Earth, pushing innocent babies out of their prams at random, in some pathetic hope that this would somehow bring you back. Hook got wind of these excursions and threatened to squash her, but fortunately we were able to step in and suggest she simply be exiled instead. Thankfully, Hook agreed."  
  
"Oh, how awful!" Wendy exclaimed. "So you don't know what's become of her at all?"  
  
The Queen shook her head. "She was banished to the Black Castle, but a worker party sent there recently to collect coal returned saying there was nary a sign of her anywhere."  
  
"We are sorry to tell you this," the King said. "We know how great a friend she was to you."  
  
Now Peter felt his own eyes becoming moist, and he hung his head. "It was because of her that we were able to come here."  
  
With every passing second, Peter and Wendy's trip to Neverland, which had so promised to be the happiest event to occur for them in a very long time, was sinking further and further into darkness. Just like the island itself.  
  
Soon, there was nothing more to say, nothing more to be explained, and so the Pans took their leave from the fairies' den. They thanked the King and Queen for all their continued kindness – especially toward Anthony – and then disappeared into the woods to find their son for one final, heart- wrenching farewell.  
  
And as they watched the dark and unforgiving jungle engulf the couple, the King and Queen exchanged a most impish grin... 


	12. IN THE JUNGLE

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site), somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie - which can be read at gutenberg.net). Confused yet? ;-)  
  
Wow, this one was a marathon! My longest chapter so far...better go to the bathroom first before you start! Heheh...So, here it is, Chapter XII.  
  
BTW, I am now accepting anonymous reviews. I hadn't realized it was such a bad idea NOT to before, but now it's all been fixed and I can read them! So, please, ALL comments welcome! (  
  
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XII. IN THE JUNGLE  
  
Every few hours or so – though there is no true perception of time in Neverland – Anthony would make it a point to venture out from his underground home and into the cold to breathe some new life into the forlorn island. Now that his presence was known to Captain Hook, he needed not to skulk around and conceal his aura any longer. It had come to be time to take action, and so Anthony would gain much pleasure in taunting the evil Pirate by taking extending trips out to sea where he would gaily glide across the thick sheets of ice and watch as they crumbled and melted right under his feet. He would laugh most heartily while doing this; loud enough to alert the whole island to the news that little Anthony Pan was out awakening Neverland.  
  
While strolling hand-in-hand through the jungle from the fairies' den, Peter and Wendy heard one of these laughs. But they knew not that it was their son, for his laugh was not the same as it was when last they heard it in person. Yet it still aroused their curiosity, and so they decided to follow the source of the merry sound further into the thick forests.  
  
The childish tittering also alerted Hook to take up arms. It was most definitely coming from the jungle. And so, with a cocked rifle, Hook trekked off on his own into the woods, lurking in shadows and keeping a cold blue eye on all that was around him. What he did not realize, however, was that he was falling carelessly into The Boy's trap. Anthony was quite deliberately luring Hook from his ship and into the merciless jungle of his own making, in order that he should be able to defeat him swiftly face to face (even if only temporarily), and then complete his task of revitalizing the frozen seas without further resistance.  
  
Anthony, brandishing a sparkling new knife fashioned for him by the craftiest blacksmith fairies, was leaving a rather conspicuous trail behind him as he trudged along through the forest, hoping Hook would see it and quickly catch on. But Hook was no imbecile – he had been called many unflattering names in his day, but never any that would dare to humble his intelligence. He followed the trail, but from a parallel path some ten yards away, his keen eye easily able to decipher between his miserable frost and Anthony's jolly flora.  
  
Yet Peter and Wendy were not quite so clever. They came upon the trail of greenery some distance from the Indian camp and tracked it foot for foot. Startlingly, the trail stopped abruptly a little ways before a clearing among the brush. Peter would have flown up above the trees to find where or if the trail picked up again, but alas, he and Wendy could no longer fly. They were much too disheartened by all the upsetting news they had happened upon in their as yet brief visit to Neverland. So they decided to proceed forward, and thus was when Peter and Wendy rediscovered the tree home in the center of the clearing – the very place where they had spent their first night as husband and wife together so long ago. As with everything else, it was in quite a state of chaos and disrepair. They could scarcely bear sights such as these much longer, and they bypassed it, casting their eyes away and carrying on back into the jungle.  
  
Anthony had miscalculated his whereabouts in the forest – he was still finding his way around – and had to fly over the tree home, lest Hook discover his lair. And the pirate had indeed caught a glimpse of him floating above the trees, but he did not have a clear enough shot to take him down at that moment. So he watched for Anthony's approximate landing and proceeded on along his own twin path.  
  
While Hook was still actively on the trail, Peter and Wendy had lost it completely. They were now stumbling blindly around the jungle, looking for any signs of life, and they soon found themselves in a most dreadfully thick part of the forest. With Wendy close behind him, Peter thrashed and clawed his way through the frustrating myriad of branches and bushes, making a most awful commotion.  
  
Anthony's ears perked at this sudden disturbance. A few yards away, Hook picked up on it as well. And so, they both stealthily began to converge upon it, each believing it was coming from the other one.  
  
Unaware of this, Peter continued to charge his way through the thicket, Wendy holding onto his shirt tightly from behind. He kicked and stomped until, all of a sudden, his foot came down and met with nothingness, causing him to fall forward, springing out from the brush and head first down a steep, rolling hill. Wendy had tried to catch him by the shirtsleeve, but she lost her grip and could only watch as her husband went tumbling down the hillside.  
  
Peter let out a cry heard by Anthony straight ahead, and the boy dashed toward its source, coming from somewhere on the other side of a valley known as Dead Man's Ditch. Hook was closer to the shout. Knowing it most certainly did not come from a little boy, he instantly crouched down behind a tree, his rifle at the ready, and waited.  
  
As Anthony raced toward the ditch, Peter continued to tumble, and the former was able to keep following the sound of twigs snapping and this intruder's shouting. He was almost sure it was Hook – the silly old pirate having stumbling whilst trying to ambush Anthony. Well, the boy would make quick work of him indeed, and he sped forth, his knife at the ready. He could now see the ditch coming upon him in the vague glimmers of twilight now upon the island, and with one last mighty leap, he sprung into the threshold of the jungle just in time to see a tall figure clad in soiled work clothes make one final summersault down the hill and come to an abrupt yet welcome stop at the bottom of the ditch. Upon landing, Peter was thrust into a seated-up position, casting his eyes straight ahead of him and toward the small, shadowy silhouette nestled within the bushes about five yards in front of him.  
  
The countenance was blurry – or she Peter thought – so he put a hand to his bruised head and closed his eyes tightly once before opening them up again and fixing them upon the dark little face scowling at him from within the brush.  
  
At the top of the ditch, Wendy was tentatively making her way down, being careful not to ruin her nightdress. She saw Peter sitting at the bottom, seemingly all right.  
  
And Hook remained behind his tree, lingering at bay until just the right time...  
  
At last did Peter's head clear of any further fuzziness and his eyes adjusted to the blackness in the ditch, and he was able to partially make out the face peering at him cautiously. But he still could not be sure. That is until the figure's dagger made a slight shift in his hand, catching an uncommon ray of elusive sunlight within it and reflecting it upon the boy's face. Now he was clear as day, and Peter froze.  
  
He had seen that face before, but not in flesh and blood. No, the face he was gazing upon now was set in bronze near the Serpentine of Kensington Gardens. But it was not Peter's face – no, it had never been Peter's face. And this tangible one in front of him now had the most brilliant green eyes. And Peter had seen those green eyes before too. But he had not seen them on a statue. He had seen them looking up at him from his wife's bosom in their bedroom in London. Save for Wendy, they were the last truly beautiful things he had seen before an unpitying wind snatched them away. Ever so gradually did Peter become aware that he was beholding the eyes and face of his precious son.  
  
But Anthony knew not whom he was staring at. It most certainly was not Captain Hook. And it was not a little boy just come tumbling from his pram. It was a grown-up. And the only paleface grown-ups in Neverland were pirates. So, this fair-haired man with the queer expression on his face must be one of Hook's cronies – one of the many spies he sends out to keep watch on The Boy. Anthony gripped his dagger tighter and stood firm.  
  
Peter felt his heart racing. He rather suspected it may leap from his chest altogether. He couldn't form a clear thought in his head to tell him what he ought to do next. So, he followed the instincts of his body and began to grapple clumsily to his feet. Anthony quickly crouched even further into his fight stance, preparing himself for anything. Peter noticed the effect his sudden movement had on the boy, and he held out a reassuring hand.  
  
"Don't be frightened, I won't hurt you," Peter said softly, slowly rising to his feet.  
  
"Who are you?" Anthony demanded.  
  
"I know you don't remember me at all, but you must believe me..."  
  
"You're one of Hook's men!"  
  
"Absolutely not!" Peter had not meant to say this so loudly, but the mere suggestion that he would ever gang up with that scoundrel made his blood boil.  
  
Both Wendy and Hook quickly became aware of this brief yet heated exchange. Hook crept out from behind the tree to quietly investigate, whilst Wendy scrambled further down the hillside should Peter be facing some sort of danger.  
  
"If you are not a pirate, then what are you doing in Neverland? You certainly are not an Indian!" Anthony prodded.  
  
Peter sighed. "It's a very long story, but if you would please allow me to explain it to you..."  
  
Wendy was now at the bottom of the hill, but she could walk no further. She followed Peter's gaze into the bush where a child of about eight or nine wielded a shiny dagger at her husband. Unlike Peter, she did not have to adjust her eyes or place his features in a context. She knew instantly that it was her boy.  
  
Her Anthony. Their son.  
  
Anthony saw her come down and thrust his dagger in her direction.  
  
"Who is she?" he asked. Wendy felt her heart hit her stomach. He did not recognize her.  
  
Peter insinuated himself between Wendy and Anthony's knife. "Don't hurt her."  
  
Anthony scoffed. "Sir, I do not harm *ladies*! I shall rescue her from you, and then run you through!"  
  
"Please, listen to me..." Peter persisted.  
  
"I will not listen to any silly grown-up!" Anthony declared proudly.  
  
His voice was getting clearer to Hook as he tiptoed around the perimeter of Dead Man's Ditch.  
  
"I am sorry, but you must listen to what I have to say," Peter pleaded.  
  
"Nobody tells me what to do, old man!"  
  
Peter was rather taken aback by the insult. It was not very long ago that he would have hurled the same such one at Hook...and would shudder so hideously when the pirate would address Peter as a man as well. But he could remember how he used to regard anyone at all over the age of thirteen as "old." But still...  
  
"I am not quite THAT old!" Peter insisted.  
  
Hook was upon them now, high up at the edge of the steep hill, concealing himself among the branches and vines hanging down all around him.  
  
"I suggest you leave the forest immediately before I am forced to hack you to pieces and send your remains, one by one, back to Captain Hook," warned Anthony.  
  
Wendy held her breath and remained silent against the hill behind Peter.  
  
"I beg of you, I am not a pirate, PLEASE, Anthony..." Peter stammered.  
  
Anthony's eyes widened. "You know my name."  
  
Peter stopped. Well, of course he knew his name!  
  
The boy's face twisted into a deeper scowl. "If you are not one of Hook's pirates, how do you know my name?"  
  
Peter stood more still than the icy waters beyond the jungle. He could feel his hands tremble. "Because...I...I am your father, Anthony."  
  
The boy only stared at him. He knew what fathers were, of course, but he had never given much thought at all to his own. This was surely just one of Hook's tricks.  
  
"Liar," Anthony snarled.  
  
"It's not a lie. You are my son."  
  
Anthony said nothing but only continued his beastly grimace. Peter just watched him.  
  
Hook peered from beyond the branches down into the ditch, his rifle pointed at Anthony's now visible head. But, say, who was this fair rogue whom he was having words with? He did look awfully familiar.  
  
Peter and Anthony continued their tense standoff. In this stillness was Hook able to decipher through squinted eyes the young man trying to ward off The Boy. That tousled blond hair, that smug mouth, those mischievous eyes...  
  
"Bilge me anchor..." Hook muttered to himself before allowing his lips to curl into the most sinister of sneers. "Pan!"  
  
The pirate made a stealthily move to gain closer access to the action – or lack thereof at the moment – in the ditch below. He wanted to get close enough to hear what was being said without being too near to be discovered.  
  
Peter watched Anthony's eyes. The boy was beginning to lean slightly forward as if to cautiously approach him, but Peter held his ground and did not make an attempt toward Anthony. No, Peter waited for *his* reaction first.  
  
He needn't have waited so very long, for without any warning at all, Anthony suddenly bounded from inside the bushes, his knife aloft, and charged at Peter. But the older man was far quicker and more experienced, and before Anthony's little feet had even touched the ground, Peter snatched his armed wrist and twisted it – not to harm him, but enough to urge him to drop the knife and fall to his knees upon the ground. Wendy gasped as she beheld this tragic struggle between a loving father and a son who knew him not a whit.  
  
And Hook continued to leer most delightedly.  
  
Anthony let out a weak yet indignant cry of pain and tried to whack the Man with his free hand, but Peter caught hold of that one as well. Anthony kept struggling, and Peter continued to hold him at bay, waiting until he would eventually give up.  
  
And Anthony most certainly would have carried on kicking and fighting Peter had he not seized a glimpse of a rather familiar little object swinging recklessly to and from The Man's chest. Poking out from under his work shirt was a vine. And attached to that vine was a decidedly sad – and quite dead – flower hanging upon Peter's neck. Anthony's fixation on this object bade him calm down almost at once, and his arms became flaccid under Peter's grip.  
  
Wendy watched with nervous eyes to see what could possibly have made Anthony cease his struggles so quickly.  
  
Peter, too, was rather perplexed. Until he followed his son's gaze downward and he himself noticed the wilted Stargazer Lily he still wore around his neck in honor of his lost son. Did Anthony remember it? How could he possibly? He could not even remember his own father!  
  
Warily, Peter released his grasp on Anthony and was relieved when the boy remained where he was on the ground. His eyes darted from the flower to Peter and then back again. Peter held up the flower in his palm for Anthony's closer inspection.  
  
"Do you remember this, Anthony?"  
  
Hook craned his neck to see what Peter could possibly be showing The Boy.  
  
Anthony now kept his eyes solely on Peter. He possessed a most disturbed expression as he slowly brought his hand up to his own chest. He reached a few tiny fingers down his shirt of leaves, and when they resurfaced, clasped between them was a nearly identical lily fastened to an identical vine.  
  
One could scarcely imagine the sensation that welled up inside of Peter, like an inflating balloon, when he saw that marvelous little flower that Anthony had taken the trouble to keep with him all this time. Standing behind Peter, Wendy too saw Anthony pluck the lily from under his shirt, and she put her hands to her mouth lest she emit too startling a cry.  
  
A broad and most grateful smile seized Peter's face at once, and Anthony knew then that this Man was no pirate.  
  
"You are really...my father?" Anthony inquired, suspicion still dripping from his tone.  
  
Hook nearly dropped his gun at hearing this.  
  
Peter wanted desperately to reach out and hug the boy until he simply exploded, but he still kept his distance. "Yes. And the lady behind me is your mother."  
  
Anthony shot a quick glance to Wendy, who stayed put until she felt it appropriate to approach them. She seemed so warm and understanding, just the way Anthony rather imagined a mother should look. And the expression in her eyes as she watched her son was so powerful as to nearly knock him backwards onto the ground.  
  
Hook beheld this spectacle before him with a most delicious amusement. So, the Boy Wonder has a son, he thought to himself. Two generations of Pans, mere feet from the barrel of his shotgun. It was almost too much to resist. Certainly Peter had come back to reclaim Neverland, and he would recruit his like-minded little boy to help him in this quest. One goal. Two Pans. Two bullets. Too tempting. Hook raised his rifle to his cheek...  
  
When Anthony cast his gaze back onto Peter, he saw that the boy's eyes were tearing up. Anthony could not quite explain why, but he felt the oddest sensation in his chest upon looking at these two people in front of him. It was as if something warm and fluid was being poured over his heart. And it made him both sad and happy all at once!  
  
But a short distance away, the wretched Captain Hook closed one eye to take aim upon Father and Son. Who shall he dispose of first? Anthony was much more wily and harder to catch, while Peter could not possibly get very far in his present aged state. Yes, Anthony would go first, and before Peter even knew what happened, he would lay waste to him as well. Hook grinned as he slowly cocked the rifle with his claw...  
  
...Oh, but wait!  
  
Now, from out of the shadows of the hillside emerged Wendy, taking her first wary steps toward the son she had not seen in three years. Her heart pounding harshly, she crept up beside Peter and crouched down next to him, drinking in this most glorious sight of her precious little boy's face.  
  
Immediately, Hook tensed and drew back his gun at this distraction. But he soon regained himself upon realizing just whom it was infiltrating his clear shot. And suddenly had he forgotten all about Anthony and Peter.  
  
"Wendy..."  
  
The name luxuriated in his mouth like a fine wine. And this was indeed appropriate, for she too appeared to have only gotten sweeter with age.  
  
As his eyes continued to gape luridly at the luminous beauty sitting upon the grass at the bottom of the valley with her charming little family, looking so very mature and out of place amongst the misery of the land, Hook's *new* mission quickly became clear. Just thinking of the possibilities sent him into a silent fit of ecstasy. But he was able to keep his giddiness at bay enough to remain as yet quite undetected within the brush and slither away into the shadows.  
  
The Pans themselves were certainly unaware of the wickedness taking place above their heads. At long last did Peter find the courage to reach out to put a gentle hand to his son's face. But, sadly, the boy shuddered and backed away.  
  
"You must never touch me," he asserted.  
  
Neither Peter nor Wendy asked why. They both knew how frightened Anthony must have been. Peter had reacted the same way with Wendy upon their first meeting, and he understood that this was because he had been so very afraid to *feel*.  
  
"Why have you come here?" Anthony demanded.  
  
"Anthony," Wendy began breathlessly. Her voice was like a soft jingling in his ears. "You were taken from us so violently, and all these years we thought we may never see you again."  
  
"You've come to take me back!" Anthony hopped to his feet.  
  
"No!" Peter replied quickly, rising as well. "No. We understand why you are here and why you must stay. But we felt so strongly that we had to see you again just once before we left, to make sure that you are all right."  
  
Anthony folded his arms. "Well, now you have seen me."  
  
Now Wendy stood up. "Oh, but Anthony...we were rather hoping to...spend some time with you." She shot Peter an unsure glance, and Anthony remained standing, looking quite puzzled himself.  
  
"Erm, what I mean is..." Wendy continued, "We should like to..."  
  
"Play a game!" Peter interjected.  
  
"A game?" Anthony's expression changed to one of mild amusement. "Play a game – with *grown-ups*?"  
  
Wendy caught onto Peter's drift. "Why, yes! Oh, we do love to play games, really!"  
  
Anthony tilted his head, still doubtful. "What sort of game?"  
  
"'Mummy, Daddy, and Child'," proclaimed Peter.  
  
"How does it go?" Anthony inquired with some hinted interest.  
  
"Well, you can just...*pretend* that I am your father, and that she is your mother."  
  
Wendy joined in the fun. "Yes! And I can tell you stories and mend your clothes..."  
  
"And you and I can swordfight and shoot bows, or whatever you like!" Peter was trying very hard to make it all sound so appealing.  
  
And indeed, Anthony thought the idea an intriguing one, although he was still quite unsure about cavorting with grown-ups. Could they really be trusted? What if they do try to steal him away from Neverland? He would have to be on his closest guard. And besides, he had been yearning for some companionship in this desolate place. It would certainly be nice to have someone around who was not keen to slit his throat.  
  
The more Anthony looked upon the eager faces of these two utterly bizarre creatures, the more was he able to detect that all-important sparkle of youth and gaiety peering out at him from behind their crow's feet and well- defined chins. There was certainly something unique about them, as if they may very well be children themselves, only trapped in grotesque grown-up bodies by way of some wicked spell.  
  
Anthony allowed a soft yet watchful grin to creep upon his lips. "Alright then. Yes, I can pretend." 


	13. A MOST PERFECT DAY

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site), somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie - which can be read at gutenberg.net). Confused yet? ;-)  
  
Here's Chapter XIII......More comments please! (  
  
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XIII. A MOST PERFECT DAY  
  
What passed for daylight at this time in Neverland was a musky orange glow that seeped in from behind the grayish clouds. If one stood and watched long enough, they would vaguely see the Sun, despite all his grandeur, playing a childish game of hide-and-seek with the island below, as if even he was afraid of inciting Captain Hook's wrath. But little by little was Anthony Pan beginning to coax him out of his exile.  
  
And so, when the first indications of what must have been morning crept upon the shores of Neverland, Peter and Wendy resolved to make as much good use out of what was sure to be a most brief period of time as was possible. Conversely, this sudden yet discriminating appearance of the long dormant Sun sent Captain Hook back into the sullen recesses of his ship to await the next cover of darkness before making his move.  
  
And so began an entire day of what only could be described as Pure Bliss for Peter and Wendy. All the many things they had dreamed about doing with their son for years at long last came to fruition. And it was all so very extra special that it should take place within the beloved Neverland. The ecstatic couple relished completely in doting on their boy again, and Anthony received their love and kindness most willingly – though always with one eye and ear open to anything shifty.  
  
While Wendy stayed in the tree home to tidy the place up – heaven knows it could use it! – Peter accompanied Anthony on one of his many excursions to rouse Neverland from its frosty slumber. In all this time, Peter never revealed to his son whom he really was, that he was the legendary Peter Pan and had been The Boy of Neverland long before Anthony, or that he knew the place like he knew his own reflection. So, when Anthony insisted "Daddy, may I introduce you to the island?", Peter happily agreed, delighting in his son's enthusiasm in showing off this sacred place.  
  
It ought to be mentioned here that, although Anthony did refer to Peter as "Daddy" on this occasion, he was only doing so as part of The Game. Peter had divulged his and Wendy's Christian names to the boy, and so would he prefer to address them thusly, except with a mannerly "Mr" or "Miss" tagged onto the front.  
  
While the boys were away, Wendy toiled in the tree home, putting it back in its proper order and taking a moment to breathe in all the memories this little place held. At last was she able to sit and ponder her great and interminable love for Peter with a free mind and a clear conscience. And the cherished recollection of how Peter had proven his own total devotion to her upon the large bed-hollow tucked inside the tree prompted her to throw her arms feverishly around his neck once he returned with Anthony – something she had not felt comfortable to do in nearly three years.  
  
The threesome spent what they assumed was the afternoon on a lovely beachside picnic. There were a few trees in the jungle beginning once again to bear fruit, and so they all helped in gathering some to eat. They also gathered a handful of some hardened berries from off of still-frozen bushes with which Peter and Anthony used to play a few lively rounds of marbles. Peter, being far more shrewd and experienced, defeated his son soundly on several occasions, prompting Wendy to whisper kindly in his ear to allow the boy to win a few times, lest his confidence – so vital to ruling Neverland – be compromised.  
  
Peter also decided to teach Anthony the relatively new game of baseball, which had been gaining popularity back in London, fashioning a sturdy tree branch into a bat and using an immature coconut as a ball. Anthony took to it instantly, and even adjusted the game to his own preference by having Peter throw the "ball" hard out over the ocean so that Anthony may fly, at top speed, after it and whack it back to Peter on shore. This would often cause Wendy to duck for her life, as Anthony had not yet perfected his aim in this sport. But always would she emerge from her huddle with a kind smile on her face, much to Anthony's delight.  
  
Indeed, Anthony's enthusiasm for this Game he was playing with these peculiar adults was starting to grow exponentially. He scarcely wanted it to end at all, and, upon completing one thrilling excursion, would beg for a new one to begin. Peter and Wendy would try to oblige him in all his wishes, however, they could hardly escape the troublesome fact that they *were* grown-ups and had not the energy and exuberance they once did so very long ago. They attempted several times to implore Anthony to take a nap, but he would hear none of it. Now he wanted to play hopscotch with Wendy!  
  
And so she did. For after tomorrow, her chance to ever do so would abruptly cease.  
  
What you and I call "time" moves swiftly in Neverland. Peter and Wendy both were painfully aware of this; so when they saw the sun begin to draw back his few tentative rays, they were quickly struck with a feeling of urgent sadness. Soon, they would have to say goodbye. Forever.  
  
As they stood on the edge of the forest watching the sunlight disappear, Peter and Wendy looked at each other with sorrowful eyes. But behind those gloomy regards were tiny sparkles that jumped about their irises, each telling the other to be brave and that everything would be okay. But the couple's silent reverie was soon interrupted when they each felt a tiny hand slip inside one of their own. Casting their eyes downward, they saw Anthony, their precious son, grasping their hands and looking up at them with a wistful grin, as if to let them know that he now trusted them enough to touch him. After all, it was only a Game, wasn't it?  
  
And so the handsome family strolled, hand-in-hand, back toward the tree home in the forest. On their way, Wendy's keen maternal eye caught Anthony trying desperately to stifle a yawn, but with little success. She tittered to herself.  
  
Once back at the home, Anthony climbed into the large bed-hollow and asked Wendy to tell him one of her famous stories. Peter left them alone and climbed up onto the lookout platform above them so as to keep a watchful and protective eye over his little clan. And so Wendy nestled the boy snuggly amongst the furs and blankets in the bed and settled in to regale him with her legendary story of Cinderella. Anthony lay rapt as Wendy told of how Cinderella swiftly defeated the evil pirates and then was joyfully reunited with the Prince, who searched high and low for the wearer of a tiny glass slipper. His eyes were good and closed by the time Wendy got to "happily ever after," and those words lingered in her mind a moment longer following her speaking them – the irony of it cutting her heart into a million pieces.  
  
When the story was finished and Anthony appeared to be in a peaceful state of slumber, Wendy leaned over and placed a warm kiss upon his forehead. It was not the Hidden Kiss, for that belonged to Peter only, but it was indeed a very special one nonetheless. And one she imagined Anthony would not accept were he still awake.  
  
Wendy rose from the bed hollow and crossed to the pit on the other side of the room to stoke the small fire within. After a few quiet moments, she suddenly heard a tiny voice behind her:  
  
"Miss Wendy?"  
  
She turned and saw Anthony sitting upright in the bed, a rather uncertain look about his face.  
  
"Yes, Anthony, what is it?"  
  
He avoided her eyes. "You don't suppose that you and Mr. Peter could...maybe...come back and play with me again sometime?"  
  
Wendy's heart skipped a beat, and she put a hand on her chest to keep it at bay. "Well, I...no, Anthony, I don't believe that will be possible."  
  
"Well..." Anthony bit his lip. "May I...perhaps...come and visit you where you live?"  
  
Wendy stood frozen. She had scarcely expected such a question, especially in light of his apparent bind with Neverland. But upon hearing it, she knew of no other answer to give: "Why, I think that would be perfectly lovely of you, Anthony."  
  
The boy's eyes lit up excitedly, and without saying another word, he cheerfully crouched back down under the blankets and drifted off to sleep, a satisfied smile remaining upon his lips.  
  
Wendy watched him for a little while, a renewed sense of optimism welling up within her. But she was mindful of becoming too hopeful, for she was aware of how Neverland could play tricks with time and memories. There was a larger chance that Anthony should forget all about Peter and Wendy than of him actually returning to visit them in London. But still, the notion was a sweet one, and something she could hold on to for the time being.  
  
After thoroughly ensuring that Anthony was deep in sleep, cuddling with a wooden elephant that Peter had earlier whittled for him, Wendy climbed the long latter up toward the lookout platform to find her husband.  
  
When she at last emerged, she saw Peter standing with his back to her, his arms folded and his eyes fixed toward the waters beyond. She could tell from where she stood that he had a dreamy grin on his face, not unlike the one Anthony donned as he slept. As she approached him quietly, she became aware of what he was looking at. The waters of Mermaid's Lagoon had been all but completely thawed, with only a handful of small chunks of ice floating on the surface, with which the mermaids themselves were now using to play a game that looked similar to water polo.  
  
Wendy immediately shared Peter's amusement at the sight. The mermaids were often so foreboding and aloof that it was a bizarre sight indeed to see them behave so whimsically. And they had been dear allies to Peter and Wendy during some dark times, and so they delighted in watching them experience a rare moment of levity.  
  
Stepping softly, Wendy crept up beside Peter and placed a warm hand onto his arm, resting her cheek lightly upon his shoulder. Peter responded as if he had known she was there all along, and, keeping his eyes aft toward the mermaids, slipped his arm around Wendy's waist and pulled her close to him.  
  
The majestic moon shone huge and round above the waters, intimidating the clouds to keep their distance so that it may cast its glow upon the lagoon as if a great spotlight meant for Peter and Wendy only. The romance of the evening was quite palpable. A cool breeze whistled through the trees, the mermaids continued their merry sport, and their son was down in the tree home sleeping soundly.  
  
For the first time since they could scarcely remember, all was right with the world.  
  
As if reading each other's minds – as they are often so wont to do – Peter and Wendy's focuses finally met, and they both saw within each other's gaze the undeniable truth of their great love for one another. Now, at last, they could finally admit it, and they could finally express it. Peter brought his hand up so he may gently caress his wife's lovely cheek as he swam deeper into the ocean of her eyes. And then, cupping her chin, he leaned in to retrieve his Kiss, which had been eluding him for so long. It was just as he had remembered it – so soothing and yet so exciting all at once. And Wendy gave willingly of her Kiss, relishing the taste of her beloved husband's lips upon hers again with just as much eagerness.  
  
As if the island itself could sense something very special was afoot in the treetops, the leaves and bushes began to rustle joyously under the gentle caress of the evening breeze. The gloomy clouds that had overruled the island for so long began themselves to blush coyly. And the mermaids abandoned their rocks of ice so that they may swim in formation, altogether humming a seductively haunting tune.  
  
The pair's kissing was becoming more fevered now. It would not be long before they should collapse upon the lookout platform and relive their wedding night right then and there for all of Neverland to see. But they cared little, for their long-dormant passion could hardly be denied any longer. Peter pressed Wendy closer to him, kissing her so hard that neither of them could barely breathe. They carried on as if it was both the first and last time they would ever be able to do so.  
  
They quickly became oblivious to anything else around them.  
  
Including the tree home below their feet, where little Anthony continued to sleep soundly and carelessly. He had not slept so hard and lusciously since his first arrival in Neverland. Perhaps this accounts for why he did not hear the entrance to his home being breached.  
  
Nor did he stir when bows and plates were kicked recklessly aside, or at the eerie scratching against the bark. He moved not a muscle as the sinister cackling came closer and closer to his bed.  
  
Not until the ropes and gags were swiftly upon him did his eyes fly open. But by then, it was much too late. He could not move at all when he was snatched from his bed. And he could not call out for his mother and father as he was flung over a beefy shoulder and hauled back up through the unobtrusive tree entrance. In fact, no one at all might have been alerted to his predicament had his kidnapper not dropped his lantern as he attempted to squeeze back through the hole he came in by, letting it shatter most noisily upon the ground below. But once again, the alarm came too late.  
  
High up in the trees above, a subtle yet quite noticeable din caused Peter and Wendy to abruptly break away from their passionate embrace. It had undeniably come from the home below. They both gasped.  
  
Anthony!  
  
As fast as their aging bones could take them, Peter and Wendy raced for the ladder and climbed swiftly down back into the tree, hazardously bypassing several rungs along the way. When at last they broke through into the little room, their eyes immediately darted towards the bed-hollow. It was empty.  
  
Not knowing what else to do, the frantic parents began to call out Anthony's name. Perhaps he may be just playing a practical joke on them. But given their history, the Pans would find little humor in such a lark. Nevertheless, it became evident rather quickly that the boy was indeed gone, to where they knew not. Until Peter spotted the dastardly clue upon the wall.  
  
Near the entrance where Anthony had been so violently dragged away was scrawled a in a most hideous fashion:  
  
"BLUFFS AT 12 FOR YOUR SON, J. HOOK." 


	14. WICKED MAN

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site), somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie - which can be read at gutenberg.net). Confused yet? ;-)  
  
Wow, I stumbled upon some MAJOR writer's block here! I knew what I wanted to happen, but had a helluva time trying to get there! Whew! Hope it's not too obvious!  
  
So, here's Chapter XIV......More comments please! (  
  
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XIV. WICKED MAN  
  
It was well-known throughout Neverland and in nursery bedtime stories everywhere that Captain Hook was quite a connoisseur of poisons and elixirs. He collected them as you and I might collect stamps or teacups. He preserved them all under tight lock-and-key within a cabinet in his quarters, but he always carried one or two vials on his person whenever venturing out, lest they should come to his advantage.  
  
Creating the poisons was a tricky business, but it was one which Hook took to with much zeal. It was his most favorite hobby, and the impending results of a truly fine toxin made all the labor quite worthwhile. His test subjects consisted mainly of his own men on board the ship. He would delight in slipping them drops of his latest concoction into their grog and watch with sinister glee the effects take shape. If the poison did not work or presented a different result from the one intended, Hook would simply dispose of the lab rat pirate and return to the drawing board. And if the poison did work, well, he would still dispose of the pirate.  
  
This macabre recreation of Hook's picked up pace considerably once he took over Neverland, for he now had more free reign to indulge in it. His first new fabrication in the Era of Hook was created shortly after Peter Pan left. He collected the leaves that had caught the tears of fairies who had been weeping at Peter's departure. This was a valuable find, for most potent of all are those poisons fashioned from fairies. And so, he distilled the tears into an elixir that rendered its victim completely and irrefutably loyal to whomever bestowed it upon them. The effects lasted – barring a proper antidote from the fairies themselves – for all eternity.  
  
And it was this elixir that stood before Anthony Pan most menacingly in Hook's cabin. The boy was bound, from head to toe, to a chair before Hook's desk. Indeed, not a thing, save for Hook's own good graces, could free Anthony from those trusses. And Hook had very few good graces.  
  
The pirates had been enlisted to keep close watch over the Pan family that day, and they were able to report back to Hook the exact location of Anthony's new underground lair. When they arrived at the home that evening to find Wendy and Peter quite occupied with other endeavors up in the treetops, they blessed their good fortune and proceeded with their dastardly plan to abduct the child. Hook only attended so as to scrawl the cryptic message upon the tree wall, entreating Peter and Wendy to meet him at Blind Man's Bluff at midnight if they should want to see their son again.  
  
Anthony could hear the evil pirate come into the cabin from behind him, slowly and deliberately – he always liked to make an entrance. He circled around the boy toward the other side of his desk, tossing him a triumphant grin and cradling his Hook in his good hand.  
  
"So," he began, "You are Peter Pan's son."  
  
Anthony was gagged tightly and could not reply. But even if he had been able to speak, he would not have known quite how to answer. Was Hook referring to the Game? Or was he privy to some extra special authority in knowing that Mr. Peter truly and most definitely WAS his father? Ultimately, Anthony simply nodded and shrugged – a perfectly ambiguous response (or so he thought). He knew not why Hook would even care.  
  
Hook smiled condescendingly, believing this answer to be a noncommittal though resounding Yes. "How charming." He sat on the edge of his desk in front of the boy. "Will he be staying long?"  
  
Anthony shook his head.  
  
Hook raised an eyebrow. "But he will come back to visit you often?"  
  
Anthony's eyes lowered sadly. Again, he shook his head.  
  
Hook feigned disgust. "Leaving his own son behind forever, even after such a lovely day spent together? How dreadful!"  
  
Anthony had never thought of it that way before, and he looked up at the pirate with wary eyes.  
  
"I have been told that you were raised in Kensington Gardens, and that your father is also employed there."  
  
Anthony stayed still, not knowing where Hook was going with this. He hadn't previously known his father was ever in the park, let alone as an employee.  
  
"And yet," he continued, raising his Hook to his chin, "in three whole years, he never once saw you. Never happened upon your existence there at all when you were right under his nose the whole time. Hm, isn't that strange..."  
  
This suggestion made Anthony quite uncomfortable. It was a fair assessment – if Peter truly was in the park as often as this, surely he would have discovered Anthony's presence at some point. Wouldn't he?  
  
"And then, after *finally* catching onto your whereabouts, he pops in but for a spot of tea and then runs off again after only one day. Does that not strike you as peculiar?"  
  
Indeed, it did sound rather curious to Anthony, but he had never really been one to question what lay in the hearts of grown-ups.  
  
Hook sighed nonchalantly. "Well, I suppose he thought it the courteous thing to do, to at least acknowledge your existence, without giving a single thought to the consequences."  
  
Anthony's brow furrowed as if to ask, "What consequences?"  
  
Hook caught on. "Peter has a terrible memory, my boy. He is known for it. Once he is gone from here, he will most assuredly forget about you just as easily as he did before in Kensington Gardens. This whole experience will quickly cease to weigh on his soul. But were, pray tell, shall that leave *you*?"  
  
What Anthony did not understand was that his own memory was in far worse shape than Peter's. More than likely, he would forget about Peter long before Peter forgot about him. But he could not anticipate this. His innocent mind could only comprehend the here-and-now. And now, he was contemplating Hook's ominous notion that, if he did go to visit Peter and Wendy where they lived, would they truly no longer remember him? Reason eluded him, for he was still far too young to grasp such concepts, and so he could only absorb Hook's words at their raw face value.  
  
The captain leaned in closer to Anthony. "Soon, you shall be all alone again. But it does not have to always be so." His hand moved stealthily behind him, angled toward his vial of potion. "Now, I will ask you one more time, and you must think carefully before you answer: Will you join my crew and become a part of all that truly rules Neverland?"  
  
This was not a difficult decision at which to arrive for Anthony. Indeed, he did not care for the idea of being all by himself again, but he would sooner be alone for all of eternity than join up with the cruelest man history had hence known. In fact, he would almost rather die than to have to live in a Neverland frozen over with bitterness and malice. And with that in mind, he flicked a proud eyebrow at the captain and gallantly shook his head.  
  
Hook was not altogether surprised at this response, which is why his expression changed little upon receiving it. He merely stood back up and discreetly motioned toward one of his men. In the blink of an eye, Anthony's gag was off and his head locked within a pirate's iron grip.  
  
At long last, Hook lifted the tiny vial of the fairy potion on his desk and unclasped the top. And with a cruel sneer, he slowly drew upon Anthony...  
  
* * * *  
  
Peter and Wendy did not wait until midnight before arriving at Blind Man's Bluff. The moment they laid eyes upon the crudely carved message within the walls of Anthony's home, they made frenzied haste toward the seaside location.  
  
The Bluff was a large mass of rock and hardened coral situated quite near Mermaid's Lagoon, extending out from the jungle. During the daytime, traditionally, the waves of the ocean would crash into the Bluff most fiercely, kicking up all sorts of rock and coral particles which had been known to blind many a careless fisherman, hence it's portentous name. At night, however, the Bluff lay eerily quiet.  
  
Peter and Wendy sat upon the rocks of the Bluff and said nothing. And they needn't have, for they were both thinking the same thing. What had they done? How could they have been so careless? Somehow, their own prophecy of letting personal pleasure distract them from the needs of their son had been fulfilled. They should have waited. They should have known.  
  
They had no way to measure time on the island – midnight could have been minutes or hours away depending on whom you asked – so they figured it best to venture to the Bluff straight away, and there they waited. I daresay not a word was exchanged between the weary couple, as if simply speaking to one another may incite some further dastardly deed to occur right under their noses. And so they remained silent, keeping their tired eyes peeled for any sign of Hook or Anthony.  
  
Peter could start to feel his eyelids growing heavy when he heard a faint rustling within the bushes to their right. His mind became alert once again, and he and Wendy sprang up from whence they sat and faced the source of the noise. They could see several spots of light heading towards them and a hint of hushed conversations. Pretty soon, they were standing face-to- face with a small army of pirates, each leering at them through the glow of their lanterns.  
  
And then a voice from behind them: "Right on time."  
  
Peter and Wendy spun around to see Hook quite unguarded on the other side of the brush standing closely behind Anthony. Peter wanted to just run to him but resisted. He thought Anthony to have a rather queer look about his face, as if he was sleeping with his eyes open. Even more curious, Hook had his good hand resting lightly on the boy's shoulder, whilst his claw lay quite a distance from the boy at all, propped up on Hook's hip.  
  
Hook himself appeared rather festive. He was dressed most ceremoniously, from top to tails. But his most conspicuous accessory was the sneer he wore. Peter's jaw tightened at the mere sight of his once mortal enemy.  
  
"Peter, my boy," Hook said rather cheerily, "So lovely to see you again."  
  
Peter remained mum, though it took every ounce of strength within him.  
  
Hook allowed his eyes to drift past Peter and onto his wife, standing so erect and lovely against the moonlight. His grin widened and changed vaguely from one of malice to wistfulness. "Hello, Wendy, darling."  
  
The sound of her name awash with his velveteen voice sent a small but undeniable shiver down Wendy's spine. She strived to ignore it. But Hook saw it clearly.  
  
"Give him to me," Peter demanded, stepping in front of Wendy.  
  
Hook snorted. "Patience, dear lad. Wouldn't you like to catch up a little first?"  
  
"What do you want, Hook?" said Peter through gritted teeth.  
  
Hook raised his eyebrows as if surprised by the question. "'Want'? 'Want', you say? Well, I'm not entirely sure. What do *you* want, Pan?"  
  
"Stop playing games with me. You know what I want!"  
  
Hook pretended to be pondering this statement. "I am wondering what *Anthony* might want."  
  
Peter looked puzzled.  
  
"Maybe we ought to ask him, shall we?" Hook bent slightly toward Anthony's ear. The boy had not moved a muscle the whole time. "Anthony, it appears these two people mean to take you away."  
  
Without so much as a blink, Anthony said in a most mechanical tone, "But I don't want to go."  
  
Hook straightened with a satisfied smile and gestured to Peter for his reaction.  
  
The Elder Pan and his wife were completely baffled.  
  
"There, you see?" Hook said, "He does not want to leave. 'Tis good enough for me. How about you, Pan?"  
  
Peter could feel himself getting hot with rage, and he stared daggers at the old pirate. "What have you done to him?"  
  
"'Done'?" Hook chuckled amiably. "Whatever could *I* do to one so proud and pigheaded as your son? A chip off the old block he is!"  
  
"You pathetic, demented old man," Peter snarled. "You've had enough of your twisted little fun. Tell me at once what you want or else hand over the boy."  
  
Hook was no longer grinning. Now he looked rather indifferent. "Is that all, Peter? No empty threats? No gallant ultimatums?" he scoffed. "Well, then by all means..." – he lifted his hand from off Anthony's shoulder – "If you want him, come and take him."  
  
Peter instantly made a move toward him, but Wendy grasped his arm. "No, Peter, it's a trick!"  
  
"Let go." Peter wrestled his arm free from her grip and continued on in his rush toward Anthony. Hook remained completely still as Peter approached like a ram on the charge.  
  
"Peter!" Wendy shouted one last time, but it was too late.  
  
Peter was mere inches from Anthony when, suddenly, Hook threw the boy aside, and Peter met with nothing more than Hook's iron claw penetrating deep within his abdomen.  
  
Wendy let loose such a wail as to shake the entire island. But before she could do much else, she was pounced upon by several pirates behind her, attempting to drag her off into the jungle. Anthony too, was quickly escorted off the Bluff until only Hook and Peter remained.  
  
Peter stood frozen on the other end of Hook's claw, staring deeply at the captain's eyes as they glowed blood-red. He couldn't breath, couldn't think, couldn't speak...He could only manage to cast a look of pure unbridled hatred upon the wicked pirate. This in turn only fueled Hook's triumphant ecstasy, and with a mighty flick of the wrist, he gouged his hook deeper into Peter's gut, turning it in the opposite direction and drinking in the unbearable agony it caused his victim.  
  
Peter could stay upright no longer, and he began to wilt downwards. With his last ounce of strength, he was able to fling a hand upon Hook's shoulder. Hook reacted swiftly to this last attempt at resistance by bringing his boot up to Peter's lowered chest and kicking him away from his hook.  
  
Peter collapsed hard upon the rocks below, grasping frantically for air. Hook calmly retrieved a handkerchief from within his sleeve and began to meticulously wipe the blood and entrails off his hook as he strode over to where Peter lay.  
  
He loomed over the fallen hero like Death himself, his eyes, once again blue and twinkling, settling upon a small, withered flower sitting atop Peter's chest. Draping his handkerchief over his hook, the captain crouched down, and with one swift and heartless flick of the wrist, tore the sacred little lily from Peter's neck.  
  
"Everything you ever had, Pan," Hook taunted, "Everything you ever loved – Neverland, your son, even your adoring wife – They are all mine now."  
  
With that, Hook rose and pitilessly tossed the soiled handkerchief upon Peter's assaulted body. And like some demonic spirit, he disappeared once again into the blackness, leaving Peter to the merciless and inevitable daytime waves upon the Bluff. 


	15. IMPURE THOUGHTS

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site), somewhere halfway through the epilogue.  
  
**!!WARNING!!** PLEASE READ:  
  
This chapter is strictly R-RATED, but I felt I ought to include it so as to make clearer certain events and motivations for them taking place in future chapters (and some having already occurred). But it is 100% optional to the reader.  
  
For those of you who would indeed rather skip this chapter, then I can give you the brief rundown: basically, this whole chapter deals with how Wendy and Hook have both had sexual dreams about each other – she in reaction to not being able to have "relations" with Peter after Anthony's disappearance; and he because, well, he has an unhealthy fixation on Wendy!  
  
So, if you are sensitive to this sort of material, or you are disturbed at the thought of Captain Hook getting some action (keeping in mind that the version of Hook represented here is the one as portrayed by Jason Isaacs in the P.J. Hogan movie and not some campy Dustin Hoffman-Disney-Cyril Richard version), then don't bother reading any further.  
  
For the rest of you, read on if you dare! (muhahaha!) Chapter XV......More comments please! (  
  
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XV. IMPURE THOUGHTS  
  
If you may have noticed a fleeting yet seemingly out-of-place tense interlude between Wendy and Captain Hook as they met face-to-face again for the first time on Blind Man's Bluff, I can assure you that this was not a frivolous occurrence, and I will take this time now to explain it fully.  
  
You see, within Captain Hook's darkened consciousness, there lay but few sentiments other than those that make up his very favorite deadly poison – the very emotions that turn his eyes from forget-me-not blue to blood-red – and those are malice, jealousy, and disappointment. However, what you may be surprised to learn (and indeed not another soul but Hook himself is privy to this) is that deeper within the recesses of Hook's depraved mind and in the foggiest, long-forgotten corners of his black heart are but the tiniest hints of redemption – or rather, the yearning for redemption.  
  
And it was just this hidden desire for something to break him free from the shackles of his own misery that was awakened within the pirate when first he ever laid eyes upon The Wendy so very long ago, gracefully dancing with Peter Pan among the fairies high above the treetops of Neverland.  
  
Up until that moment, Captain Hook and Peter Pan had but one very important thing in common, which was a constant source of comfort for the begrudging pirate: they were both loners, each forever bound to their respective places in this world, and as such were both quite isolated...and thus unloved by anybody. Oh, they both had their adoring and loyal crews, but this was not quite the same as the particular devotion that was missing from their perpetual lives. Only Hook was aware of this deficit – Peter had no understanding or appreciation whatsoever of its existence. And it was this ignorance for such a marvelous and elusive gift among mankind that embittered Hook so deeply when he discovered that Peter had found it first. Why should The Boy get to find love when he did not even know what it was or what to even do with it? And such a lovely one at that. It was so cruelly unfair. And Hook was determined to deprive his nemesis of such a luxury.  
  
And thus did Hook bring the Wendy aboard his ship and attempt to entice her away from the emotionally deficient Peter Pan and to join him instead. To his pleasant surprise, he found her quite charming, and he would daresay the feeling was mutual. She was wise beyond her years – far too wise and mature for one so inadequate as Peter Pan – and as such possessed a great reverence for Hook's ability to *feel* - even if a great majority of those feelings were marred in loathing. Even she, at such a tender age, could see as well as he that, sometimes, 'tis better to feel bitterness than nothing at all. And upon first seeing the girl bestow her precious smile upon him when asked if she would like to be a pirate, Hook soon realized that the benefits of disposing of Peter Pan once and for all could be far vaster than he anticipated. He would be rid of his mortal enemy *and* he would get to keep the lovely Wendy all for himself...a most marvelous plunder yet known.  
  
No, Hook did not expect Wendy to come to him willingly. Despite all her wisdom, she was still but a child, and her spirit was already strongly bound to Peter Pan. And indeed, once he had her back aboard his ship – along with those grubby Lost Boys – she did not take too kindly to the notion that Hook had in all likelihood killed Peter, and she nobly proclaimed she would rather die than join him and his crew. He had no real intention of disposing of her, however. 'Twas not until he had realized Peter was still alive that Wendy was his last option left for getting to him. By this time, as was wont to happen, Hook's maliciousness and hatred far outweighed any other softer emotions that may have been threatening to contaminate his cold heart, and so he felt very little in the way of sympathy as he watched Wendy walk the plank in a last desperate effort to root out and defeat Peter. If he could succeed, he needn't be too unhappy – Peter's death would most certainly make up for losing Wendy.  
  
But alas, neither happened. Peter rescued Wendy from the crocodile just in the nick of time. And Hook's attempt to undermine Peter's Happy Thoughts by taunting him with visions of Wendy's abandoning him backfired most dreadfully. Hook was but mere inches from finally doing in his great enemy when the fair Wendy tricked him quite cunningly – telling Hook she wished to give Peter a "thimble" and then proceeded to bestow upon the Boy the sweetest of kisses Heaven had hence created.  
  
Hook stood and watched in sheer awe as this simple Kiss completely restored Peter and then some, leading to Hook's eventual – though temporary – defeat. It was at that very moment, when Hook witnessed Wendy definitively prove her devotion to Peter, that the captain first became aware that such a miracle as this could exist. It was the greatest treasure he had yet come across, he was sure of it. And like all great things in this world, Hook had to have it.  
  
In the years following this event, Hook would occasionally find his mind wander to Wendy's Kiss and how it may redeem him should she be so kind as to give it to him. Not surprisingly, the Kiss was having some rather adverse side effects upon Peter – it was causing him to *think*. And to *feel*. And Peter discovered quickly to what anguish this could lead. Welcome to my callous world, Hook would think to himself with a sardonic grin as he watched Peter grow older and older.  
  
And then, she came back.  
  
The very second Hook laid eyes upon the breathtaking young woman proudly sauntering back into his cabin to fight for Peter, his great thirst for the sort of pleasure and redemption that only she could seemingly provide was piqued anew, and with greater intensity. And with this also came a new desire to acquire all that came with the Kiss – everything else that was attached to it. The Kiss only was no longer enough. *All* of Wendy must he have.  
  
Hook tried several times to claim her Kiss as his, but she would let none but Peter take it from her. A great blow to his ego it was, but Hook believed that, once Peter was gone for good and Neverland was under the iron grasp of his hook, he could be satisfied enough with this. He was sadly mistaken.  
  
That is when the dreams came.  
  
Hook had very little to do to pass time in Neverland once the island was firmly in his control. No one dared challenge him, so he had no enemies to fight. Only his dark hobby for poisons and potions kept him occupied. And his dreams.  
  
The inception of the dreams were varied, but the outcome always the same. Sometimes, they began aboard his ship where he lay sleeping, and sometimes they started among the grayness of the sullen Neverland clouds. Still other dreams commenced within the jungle or even under the ocean's surface. But always inside these spaces was Wendy. How she would look upon the decadent pirate's face with such warm eyes as she beckoned him forth toward her. Such a regard as this was enough to force the Devil himself into wistful submission, and so Hook could hardly resist.  
  
Once upon her, she would take his hands in hers – yes, both hands, for in Hook's dreams, Peter had never claimed his right one – and she would lower him to the ground, or ocean floor, or cloud, depending on where this particular dream took place. And here would she dispose of any meddlesome clothing and then lay before him, arms outstretched, urging him to her. And with both his hands he would explore every inch of The Wendy, to her great and encouraging gratification. The feel of her skin under his corrupted fingertips made Hook's lust grow ever the more urgent until, finally, he had to lower himself fully upon her. Into his blue eyes she would cast such a look of burning want as to lay waste to any more moment's hesitation for his simmering passion to erupt.  
  
Here, he would try to kiss her, but she would turn her chin upwards, and he would gladly press his lips to her throat instead, delighting in her soft coos of approval. And then, in a sudden burst of pure eagerness, she would fling her arms about his neck and wrap her legs around his waist. He would press himself harder upon her, almost crushing her, but object she did not at all. Their breathing would become increasingly frenzied until in perfect unison, her abdomen rising and lowered with his.  
  
The impassioned pirate grappled at the ground beneath Wendy's hair to brace himself. And with one mighty drive forward, he took her. And when he did, how she would throw her head back and cry out his name to the stars.  
  
"James!"  
  
Their lust and the subsequent grunts it incited now firmly intermingled, Hook held tighter to Wendy, and she would violently dig her nails into his back, the pain from which only excited him further. At this point in time, he did not think about the Kiss. There would be time for that later on. Right now, he focused on the marvelous sensations aroused from his becoming one with the fair and elusive Wendy. All the precious gems and trinkets he had ever plundered could never amount to this treasure lying beneath him. And he would grow ever the more satisfied when Wendy would squeal of how she had never before experienced such pleasure – not even with Peter Pan.  
  
This was all Hook needed to adequately bring the exhilarating sacrament to its delicious and spectacular conclusion. Quite happily did they both arrive at the apex together, their bodies tensing harshly before gradually releasing, settling beneath their cries of ecstasy lingering intertwined above their heads, the sweet result of their now-quenched hunger.  
  
In this brief serenity was when Wendy would breath deeply and run her hands through Hook's thick black curls and he lay with his head upon her chest, listening to her pounding heart. She would purr into his ear loving words, always the same:  
  
"You are gallant and adequate."  
  
To which he would sorrowfully reply: "I am a wicked man."  
  
She would then raise his face to meet hers and smile most adoringly. "My Kiss shall declare otherwise."  
  
She leaned her face towards his, her lips pursed and willing...  
  
And then the captain would awaken most suddenly. Always at this very moment would he awaken. Even in his dreams, he could not obtain that Kiss. And so the bitterness and disappointment within him continued to fester.  
  
But this was not the greatest tragedy permeated from these reveries. For, you see, Wendy was haunted by the very same dreams.  
  
However, for Wendy, the dreams were not propagated by a desire for redemption, but, similarly to Hook, they served as an unhealthy fulfillment for a primal need.  
  
Many were the long and frustrating nights after little Anthony Pan's disappearance when Wendy and her husband Peter would turn to each other in their bed and make a grand attempt to resume a normal married life. They would stare endlessly into each other's eyes, the want for one another setting their broken hearts ablaze. When they could bear it no longer, Peter would franticly climb upon Wendy, hike up her nightdress, and struggle most pathetically to access her. Wendy held him tightly, hoping upon hope that *this* night, they would at last be able to go through with it. But always would their eyes again meet, and the impenetrable sadness within instantly killed all anticipation for just one moment of pleasure. Peter, proud as he was, would quickly turn from Wendy so she would not see him weep. And they would hence fall asleep with their backs shamefully faced toward each other.  
  
But for Wendy, the night would seldom end at that.  
  
The evil pirate Captain Hook had spent the better part of Wendy's early childhood as nothing more than a dark figure of her own imaginative creation – a faceless, merciless monster who tormented all the heroes and heroines of the nursery stories she told to her brothers. He was little more than a blue-eyed villain with an iron claw. Until Peter Pan appeared in her window and took her to Neverland, where she was to at last come face- to-face with this shadowy character in the flesh. A tall, dark, and intriguing man who brandished a pistol as if it were a beautiful woman, his piercing eyes so very enchanting to gaze upon. Wendy was never frightened by this man. In fact, she was rather charmed – until, that is, he dared to threaten the life of her beloved Peter Pan.  
  
Hook had been very kind to her when he brought her aboard his ship, and she had found herself quite flattered by the eloquent captain's attention. But so naïve was she in believing it was not due to his demented plan for capturing Peter. She was wholly disappointed at this, as any young girl would be. He really had no interest in her at all, she thought. All he truly wanted was to see Peter dead. 'Twas doubly upsetting.  
  
Wendy was very nearly a woman when she returned to Neverland to solve the riddle of Peter's mysterious growth. Possibly just as alarming was the fact that Hook was still alive and lurking about his ship. But he was, like her, different somehow. He did not seem quite so interested in defeating Peter any longer. Instead, his attentions appeared to be bent toward having Wendy for himself. She figured it was only another shallow attempt to damage Peter. So she filed it away in the back of her subconscious for later review, for she had only one man on her mind and in her heart.  
  
She had given very little thought to the captain at all whence returning to London with her new husband in tow. Why would she ever have reason to? She was with the true love of her life, had three gorgeous children, and an existence in this world she would not have traded for all the glorious stars in Heaven. But her misty recollections of Captain Hook would soon have their day in the sun, following the most heinous tragedy to take place in Mrs. Pan's otherwise blissful life.  
  
The name Hook is synonymous with heartbreak and bitterness, so it is of little wonder how his countenance came to creep upon Wendy's nightly reveries in the first place. But he was not merely a stagnant symbol for her grief in these dreams. He was so much more – things a conscious Wendy would never dare to contemplate. He was there, the dark and dangerous rogue, to satisfy every last one of Wendy's unfulfilled cravings. Everything she wished Peter would do, Hook did. And he would do so in such an impassioned manner as to reduce Wendy into an almost manic state as she allowed the captain to ravage her again and again. Even when he would claw at her with his cold iron hook, she would scream in delight, for pain and pleasure were all but inseparable in these dreams. The maddening frenzy would continue on and on until, finally, with one great release, Wendy's eyes would burst open. She could hear her heart racing and breath heavy, and she would quickly become aware that her nightdress was soaked through. Sometimes even, most dreadfully, she would awaken from these dreams and find her hand squeezed between her thighs.  
  
And she would look over her shoulder to her husband, sleeping harshly and determinedly, and she would become awash with utter guilt and shame. How could she? How *dare* she? She loved Peter so completely – how could she possibly allow such illicit images slither like a tempestuous snake into her slumber?  
  
But no matter how she strived, the dreams would continue, always following yet another desperate and vain attempt at making love to her husband. She knew that if they could only succeed, the dreams would cease. But neither did. I regret to tell you that there were some nights when she even anticipated the dreams, so dissatisfied and frustrated she was with her inability to give herself guiltlessly to Peter – even though the dreams would do little to alleviate her feelings of remorse. But sometimes, just as both she and Hook had come to understand, 'tis better to feel pain than nothing at all. And Wendy was so greatly frightened of the prospect of feeling nothing for Peter someday that only the shame of her dreams encouraged her to keep trying to reconnect with her husband.  
  
The night that she and Peter put Anthony's things in the attic, Wendy was quite convinced that it was the first step in righting everything once again. It would be only a matter of time before they could be together in all aspects, and she would have no need for those dreadful dreams.  
  
But then came the news that they would have to return to Neverland to find Anthony. Wendy's mind focused solely on this, and her thoughts rarely wandered to the captain. When they found that Hook had taken control of the island, she knew that they had to find Anthony and bring him home post haste. But alas, he was not inclined to leave Neverland, and Wendy acknowledged that she and Peter could never return. And she very nearly escaped the island unscathed. But that scoundrel Hook had clawed his way into their lives once more by stealing away their son. Wendy was determined to be strong upon confronting the captain again on Blind Man's Bluff. But seeing the wretched man again standing before her, she felt her whole body tense, and when he called her name, she dare not answer. How completely disgusted she was to find that he still affected her, even while she was awake and of sound mind.  
  
Hook, having lost all abilities for empathy long ago – I daresay he may have been born without such an emotion – he felt nothing in the ear- piercing shriek that Wendy let loose upon whence he thrust his hook into her true love's gut. He was a pirate. He was a fiend. He knew of no other way to claim something as his. It was simply a necessity to destroy Peter Pan. And the fact that he was his mortal enemy made the gruesome task all the more acceptable.  
  
Hook indeed now possessed everything Peter had ever loved.  
  
At last, he had outdone The Boy. And most sweet of all, Wendy was completely his. 


	16. SUBMISSION

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site), somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie - which can be read at gutenberg.net). Confused yet? ;-)  
  
Okay, no comments whatsoever on that last chapter, so either everyone was fine with it, or everyone chose to skip it altogether! LOL  
  
Well, there is some more "sauciness" in this chapter as well, but nothing like the last one (at least I don't think so!), so I am staying with the original PG-13 rating here.  
  
So without much further ado, Chapter XVI......More comments please! (  
  
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XVI. SUBMISSION  
  
Not often are the mermaids wont to leave the security of their lagoon. They truly needn't ever leave at all, for their intuitions and inclinations for all that occurs on the island is quite far-reaching. Their powers had lain frozen in ice for so very long, and now that they once again had been liberated, they were twice as keen as before.  
  
Indeed, something was astir in Neverland. A thing so crucial as to compel the mermaids to abandon their lagoon. By morning, the unforgiving waves would come and wash away all that was left behind on Blind Man's Bluff. And before long, the Sun would retreat back into his sullen repose, the trees would wither and grow cold, and the mermaids would be once again banished into the frigid darkness of the sea.  
  
Neverland faced a most horrible destiny, one which every creature and every leaf of every bush on the island could feel. More than ever, they needed their Savior. Under the eerie guidance of the mermaids shall he be sought out.  
  
* * * *  
  
The only other sound besides Wendy's strained heartbeat was a maddening "drip-drip-drip" seeping in from the rotted ceiling of the brig. Wendy had become accustomed to it by now – there was scarcely a thing she could do about it anyhow, due to the manacles. All she could presently hear was the pounding of her own pulse inside her head, which she hung deep within her shoulders. The ghastly image of her husband being disemboweled right before her eyes weighed upon her person like a million anvils being dropped on top of her.  
  
Currently, a new commotion broke through the monotony of her disturbed thoughts, and she lifted her bleary and bloodshot eyes upwards, peering through the bars of her cell and into the little room beyond where she watched a group of about three or four pirates marching obnoxiously by, singing a merry buccaneer anthem. She caught a glimpse of the large cage they were hauling, and within that cage a very vacant and indifferent- looking little boy, staring not at her but *through* her beyond his own tiny prison. She knew not where they may be taking her son, but she figured that if he was below decks, then his fate may at least not be terminal...for the time being.  
  
The boisterous pirate caravan now having passed, an imposing figure stepped out from among them and through the narrow entrance to the room where Wendy was being held captive. The flash of cold steel where his right had should have been gave him away instantly, as did the all too familiar smug grin. Wendy watched with sickened stomach as the pirate removed his flamboyant hat and bowed deeply before her. She grunted sardonically.  
  
"You..." She swallowed so as to remove some of the coarseness to her voice before continuing. "You kidnap and poison my son; you chain me up to this wall; you *murder* my husband...and then you DARE to bow before me? You are despicable."  
  
Seemingly unaffected by her harsh words, Hook sighed, then straightened and shrugged. "Well, so much for trying to be a gentleman."  
  
With that, he frivolously tossed his hat aside and strode casually toward her cell. She watched him closely as he put his hand and his hook around the bars and rested his face between them. He looked at her with slight condescension.  
  
"I was afraid you wouldn't take too well to all this," he stated almost mockingly.  
  
Wendy stayed silent. She could not imagine for what Hook might want her, now that he had most certainly killed Peter. She could even unhappily understand why he would hold Anthony prisoner. But what could he possibly want of her? She was positively useless as far as she could see. Unless...  
  
No, that was far too horrible a thought to even consider.  
  
An unbearable silence fell over the two as Hook continued to eye Wendy like a lion in a cage may scrutinize a lovely swan crossing so near yet so out of reach of his jaws. Only 'twas not the lion in the cage but the swan. And unlike his feline counterpart, Hook moved slowly and menacingly as he lifted the latch on the door and opened it with a most awful creak and then stepped inside.  
  
The pirate's eyes never strayed from Wendy as he approached, but as he got closer, her own gaze fell back upon the floor. She must not look into his piercing blue eyes, for she feared she may very well never be able to look upon anything else again.  
  
Hook was but a foot's length from Wendy when he stopped and finally spoke. "I know it has been some time since last you were in Neverland, Wendy, so allow me to bring you up to date. This place is no longer meant for the likes of you and your jolly kin. Neverland belongs to me now, m'dear, and as such, everything that comes in becomes mine."  
  
"What is to become of Anthony?" was all Wendy could manage.  
  
Hook could not help but smile, but it was laced with bitterness. "Oh, do you hear that? How she asks first about her precious son before thinking of herself." He paused as Wendy raised her head once again and met his gaze with incensed eyes. "It all really depends on you, my sweet."  
  
Wendy began to tremble. "How is that?"  
  
"Anthony shall be here and alive under my charge. And he shall remain so as long as you do as well."  
  
Hook spoke no further but instead stood to wait for Wendy's reaction. She desperately did not want to, for she so dreaded to hear the answer to the question forming in her mouth. She drew in a shaky breath and let it come: "What should you want of me?"  
  
Hook's lips curled into a terrible grin as if picturing it in his mind, and his eyes seemed to light up. "You, dear Wendy, shall make a very fine pirate captain's bride."  
  
Wendy's head collapsed once again between her shoulders. She wished now more than ever that her hands were not bound so that she may press them firmly to her ears. But alas she had to listen as Hook continued:  
  
"As all precious treasures in Neverland, you shall also be mine. You will become my wife, Wendy. And as such, you will do all that is required of one...*All*."  
  
Wendy felt her head begin to swirl, as if the entire ship was spinning uncontrolled. She wanted so much not to believe she had just heard what Hook said, just as she had not wanted believe she had really seen Peter stabbed on the Bluff. But the insistent tug from the chains about her wrists confirmed that it was all indeed sadly real.  
  
And thus was when a sudden wave of brazenness swept over Wendy. If this was to be her fate, she would never have to like it or accept it. Tolerate it, perhaps, for the sake of her son, but she would intend to make it as miserable a struggle for the smug old captain as she could. And with this in mind, she raised her chin once again, high into the air.  
  
"I think I would rather be keelhauled," she avowed through gritted teeth.  
  
Hook stiffened slightly, determined not to let her see how she had grazed him. After all, *she* was the one in chains, was she not?  
  
Finding his voice once again, Hook said, "I thought you might say something to that affect."  
  
Wendy struggled to hold her ground as Hook remained standing still before her, that countenance of feline aggression again taking him over. With silent amusement he watched her wrestle with her own pride. She may succumb to him willingly after all. Perhaps all she needed was a little bit of convincing.  
  
Still Wendy held tough even as Hook moved forward to close the already small gap that separated them. As he inched closer and closer, expecting her to finally turn away from him, but as yet she kept her chin up, determined not to let him dominate her. And so when he leaned in to claim her lips with his, then did she cruelly turn her head from him before he could.  
  
But Hook would have none of these girlish games. With a snarl, he quickly brought his right arm up and smashed his hook into the wall beside Wendy's ear, jolting her and her head frontward once again. And without wasting another second, Hook snatched her neck with his left hand and forcefully pressed his mouth hard against hers.  
  
Wendy could only squeal weakly in protest, as Hook's grasp upon her was so fierce that she thought he might tear the hair straight from her head if she dared struggle excessively! So she tried to tighten her lips together, but an inevitable loss of breath turned her over once again to the pirate's onslaught until her only option left was to allow him to infiltrate her mouth completely. He was much too adamant – and she was chained to a wall.  
  
But perhaps Wendy might have found herself better off by continuing to struggle, for what followed her submission could very well be considered a fate much worse than fighting off a noncompliant kiss from a pirate. This relent carried Wendy off into the darkest corners of her subconscious where all her dreadful and guilt-laden dreams once lay. Suddenly, she was not being held captive in the brig of the Jolly Roger but was in a foggy meadow or perhaps atop a glistening cloud, where she for so many heartbroken nights before had rendezvoused with the evil captain. He had so often been there when Peter could not, to melt away all other painful thoughts and concerns when she did not want to linger on them any longer. And thus Hook gently removed his hand from Wendy's neck, only to find that she did not turn away from him.  
  
She tasted sweeter upon his lips than even his own dreams could have foretold. She no longer resisted him, as he knew she would, and he could savor every precious flavor of her mouth or gentle caress of her tongue. But he was not searching for the Hidden Kiss. No, not yet.  
  
As Wendy always imagined, he tasted vaguely of cheap rum and cigars, and his goatee was frightfully harsh upon her delicate skin, but it mattered not – for remember that pain and pleasure are indistinguishable in her dreams.  
  
Whence Hook finally found the will within himself to break away so that he may draw a deep inhalation, he kept his mouth open and close to hers, feeling her breath as she continued to search for and reclaim his lips once again. He teased her by lightly brushing his mouth against hers and then pulling back slightly when she would try to capture him, causing her to softly whimper for his returning touch. More delighted at this he could not have been, and with a vague grin he gently tweaked her upper lip with his tongue, and watched through dark eyes as she quivered. And with that, Hook pulled away fully and could scarcely keep himself from letting go a low and arrogant snicker.  
  
'Twas with the sudden sound of Hook's sinister voice that quickly jarred Wendy from her dream state. Her eyes opened, and she instantly fell upon the horror of what had just taken place. The disdain she surely felt for herself at that moment was immeasurable. Oh, a truly wicked woman she was...Her husband's body not yet even succumbing to cold and she was locked in a passionate kiss with the very man who had put him in that state. Was she really so weak? Was this truly to be her fate?  
  
Wendy's head fell once again between her shoulders, and for the first time, she began to weep. This was much to Captain Hook's disturbance, and his smug grin descended into a troubled frown.  
  
"All right," Wendy managed in an awful, tear-laden voice, "You win. I will do whatever you say."  
  
Hook remained still as he watched this woman who had just moments before been a powder keg ready to erupt with passion to this quivering, pathetic mess now hanging limply before him. He listened to the utter wretchedness of her sobs, and he could not help but feel something he had never known existed within him – sympathy.  
  
But with every moment of levity for the captain, it was brief and quickly overshadowed by his usual laments of selfishness and malice. Thus Hook suppressed these officious and dreadful feelings of compassion and narrowed his eyes upon Wendy.  
  
"Do you think me a fool?" His voice was shaky despite his best efforts to control it.  
  
Not quite expecting such a portentous response, Wendy's sobs ebbed temporarily as she let her inquisitive eyes meet up once again with the captain's, whose own seemed rather glassy and distressed. Hook noticed this himself and quickly turned away from Wendy, lest she regard him at such a rare moment of weakness.  
  
Hook strolled heavily towards the bars on the other side of the cell, his hand carelessly resting upon where his heart should be. His tone was rueful as he again rested his face between the bars, this time looking out.  
  
"Oh, Wendy," he began, "Although I am quite certain that you would eventually give in to my advances, I am also painfully aware that you shall never cease to try and get away from me. You are too noble; your pride too great. And your devotion to your son impenetrable."  
  
As much as Wendy quite disagreed with his sentiments at that moment, she could not help but be rather pleased with this respectful assessment of herself by so callous and arrogant a man.  
  
"If only for him shall you never allow yourself to fully yield to me," Hook continued, his hand stealthily moving from his chest to a pocket in his waistcoat. "And that is something I should like to alleviate your mind from."  
  
These words did not appear to bode well for Wendy, and she shifted uncomfortably in her manacles.  
  
From Hook's pocket did he retrieve a small, rather familiar little vial, the contents of which glistened so much like fairy dust. He flipped the lid with his hook, and placing his thumb over the opening, turned over the vial in his hand so that a goodly portion of the substance should fall upon it. Placing the vial back into his pocket, Hook took a deep breath and then harshly exhaled any lingering notions of consideration he may have been harboring. And when he turned back around to confront Wendy, his face displayed nothing but a hideous indifference.  
  
One glance upon the glittering substance on Hook's thumb and Wendy just knew it must be the same potion he had given Anthony. He intended to make her completely and unflinchingly loyal to him. She would not be able to fight him. She would never get away. She would not want to.  
  
For a split second, Wendy considered whether or not this may actually be a merciful deed, but those contemplations were quickly cast away when she remembered her son. Who shall ever save her son if she is to be poisoned?  
  
As Hook drew closer to her, Wendy began to struggle fiercely. She knew very well she would never be able to break her chains, but she was not going to simply take Hook's poison without a duly protest.  
  
"I promise you, Wendy," Hook said, "It will all be so much better this way."  
  
And with a sharp yet painfully accurate swing of his right arm, Hook brought his claw flush up against Wendy's chin, causing any further movement from her to result in an instant impaling. Thus there was little else Wendy could do as Hook forced his thumb into her mouth, smearing the toxic substance wherever possible. It had a most ghastly, rancid taste.  
  
Once satisfactorily afflicted, Hook removed his thumb from her mouth and let his hand drift carelessly upon her chest, but Wendy was far too occupied in cringing at the elixir to notice. So, when he suddenly backed away from her and declared, "All in good time," she knew not to what exactly he was referring.  
  
Keeping one eye upon her the whole way, Hook slinked out of the cell, and after closing the door again shot one last apathetic look towards the contaminated woman shackled to the wall.  
  
"Till we meet again," he avowed almost in a whisper.  
  
And with that, Wendy saw Hook and everything around him grow narrow and dark, as if she was looking at everything through an unfocused telescope.  
  
And then nothing. 


	17. REDEMPTION

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site), somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie - which can be read at gutenberg.net). Confused yet? ;-)  
  
**NOTE: There is some more R-RATED stuff in this chapter (although a lot more watered down), but since it is only a small portion and therefore not worth it to rate the entire chapter thus (or make the whole thing optional like 15), I will instead make note of the more risqué passages by placing them between two sets of three asterisks ('***'). It might look kinda messy, but it was all I could come up with! And after this, there will be no more R-rated stuff, so don't worry! ;-)  
  
So, here's Chapter XVII......Comments, Comment!!! :-)  
  
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XVII. REDEMPTION  
  
The waves began to push gently upon the rocks of the Bluff, tossing an over- flung hand carelessly about. It was a lifeless hand, yet one that still vaguely pulsated with spirit. The mermaid thought it still rather warm whence she took hold of it. After bestowing a gentle and scaly caress upon the hand, she returned it quietly to the temporary safety of the rocky terrain.  
  
The tide was rising. The giant moon was retreating. Time as they could fathom it was growing short.  
  
The lone mermaid descended beneath the water's surface, and the Bluff once again fell silent.  
  
* * * *  
  
Captain Hook, in all his faux elegance, toiled endlessly in front of the mirror attempting to perfect the handles of his mustache. He simply must look his best for his new bride.  
  
He had even managed, after quite some heated rummaging, to relocate a very fine white cotton gauze shirt within the hidden alcoves of a decaying bureau. Far back in his active buccaneering days, Hook had snatched this article off the back of a poet enjoying his wedding night with a fair maiden whilst raiding a small cog drifting along the North Sea. Hook vowed then to store it safely for his own wedding night, and so it remained for centuries locked away and forgotten until now. It was frightfully musty and laden with dust, as you can imagine, but a quick shakeout over the starboard side of the Jolly Roger and a light sprinkling of a good brandy promptly righted this.  
  
Hook was surveying a rather unflattering wrinkle across the bridge of his nose – or was it a scar he had forgotten? – when he sensed the entrance to his cabin being breached. His eyes shifted slightly to the corner of his mirror where he saw the reflection of a lovely young woman darkening his doorway.  
  
He turned to regard his new possession and was wholly relieved to see her exquisite face bereft of all the sorrow and distress in which he had last seen it. Presently taking its place was an air of peaceful reserve – one could even call it bliss. Her eyes were large and round and focused straight ahead, staring at something that did not quite seem to actually be there. But whatever it was, it made the corners of her mouth curve vaguely upwards, as if she thought it all simply divine. Her whole countenance seemed very hollow, and she rarely even blinked. But she was standing in his cabin under her own accord without a tinge of antipathy, and this was good enough for Hook.  
  
He held his hook out to her, and quite in her trancelike state did she move forward to him and take it, her eyes never wavering from whence they were fixed. He led her to an unobtrusive nook in a darkened corner behind the mirror in his stateroom where a long tapestry hung from a short beam. Moving this aside, it revealed two narrow lattice doors, which Hook pushed open with an unpleasant creak due to inactivity.  
  
Beyond the doors were the captain's sleeping quarters – a cramped, most bleak little room that contained only an overstuffed bed, a small table next to it, and a washstand. A small candelabra upon the table attempted to light the chamber but with little affect. The only access to the outside world was a minor porthole that looked out over the waters aft of the ship. Quite a dismal space it was, even for Captain Hook, and it was little wonder why he so often would prefer to take his slumber upon his chair in the stateroom. It was his great hope that The Wendy could breathe some much- needed gaiety into his lonely bedchamber.  
  
Hook had given strict instructions to his crew to remain below decks in their bunks for the remainder of the night, and if the irritable captain were to hear so much as a running nose, the unfortunate perpetrator would promptly be introduced to his cat o' nine tails.  
  
Thus the ship was eerily quiet as Hook closed the lattice doors behind him. This was to be a most glorious night. He would first make Wendy his once and for all, just as in his delicious dreams, and then at long last would she give him her precious Kiss.  
  
And so shall he finally be renewed. Rejuvenated. Redeemed.  
  
Wendy remained quite unaffected as Hook took her by the shoulders and set her down to sit on the edge of the bed. He crossed to the washstand and removed his white shirt, revealing a most hideous leather contraption in which he used to attach his clawed hand. He moved to unlatch the strap that connected the arm brace to his left shoulder when he quickly considered he might need to keep it on, lest Wendy unexpectedly awaken from her spell and try something cute. And so the torturous-looking apparatus stayed put.  
  
Hook made his way next to Wendy and looked at her for a brief moment, as if wondering where he should start. It had been so very long – perhaps centuries even – since he had to wonder. His whole existence in Neverland had been spent with nary a woman's touch. He had never even taken advantage of a fair Indian maiden. (Though, in truth, this was solely because they were much too fast for him to catch. Alas, Hook would have gladly had his way with a mermaid or even a fairy if he thought it possible.)  
  
Ultimately, Hook swung a leg behind and around Wendy and sat down himself upon the bed, straddling her between his legs. He put his hand about her waist and pulled her even closer against him. He removed the bow from her hair and combed out her long braid with both his fingers and hook. Then did his hand move from her hair to her shoulder, and he slid the short sleeve of her nightdress away from it, baring her flawless skin. He breathed in the intoxicating scent of her hair and moved his lips close to her ear.  
  
"Will you have me, Wendy?" he whispered.  
  
Thus Wendy spoke her first words to him: "Yes."  
  
It sounded so mechanical, so vacant, but a yes was a yes for the degenerate captain, and he gleefully nudged Wendy's face towards his with his hook and kissed her lightly.  
  
*** With most awkward eagerness did Hook then try to pull Wendy toward the front of his bed, she being of little help to his efforts. Once her head lay gently upon the pillows, her dull eyes rested upon Hook the way a child's doll may look vapidly upon its gleeful owner. And as the pirate then proceeded to commit any number of atrocities upon her person, she felt nothing.  
  
All was still and nebulous through Wendy's eyes, and her body moved only as it was compelled by her pirate master. And Hook was quite determined to eradicate any trace of Peter Pan's touch upon her. She was *his* now. Thus every patch of skin Pan may have caressed, any tiny nook he may have kissed, Hook usurped it with his own. And when at last he finally took her, he claimed the very last fragments of purity Wendy had yet possessed. Like the merciless pirate he was, he stole her innocence as if it were nothing more than a gaudy trinket. ***  
  
But still Wendy felt nothing. She was more or less numb throughout her entire body and mind. So it is of a bizarre wonder how her eyes were to become drawn to the porthole next to the bed. Perhaps it was because of the tiny dot of light bouncing about within, darting here and there and catching Wendy's distant attention as a ball of yarn might pique a cat.  
  
*** Soon, Hook's hand slithering up over her chin diverted Wendy's notice back toward the ceiling and once again into her wistful state. He was fully upon her now, and he managed to prop himself upward slightly as he continued to push further onto and into her as if she may actually be affected. He stared down into her eyes, searching for some hint of recognition, of validation, but she never even blinked. Oh, if only she would just blink! This all was certainly not in the least what he had anticipated.  
  
Becoming afraid he might be losing her, and therefore himself become flaccid before the deed was done, Hook cupped his hand about her face and asked in a staggered voice: "Is it...better...than Pan?"  
  
With a most pleasant and somewhat rhetorical tone, Wendy replied, "No Pan. Only Hook."  
  
Quite pleased with this response and his excitement triggered anew, Hook nuzzled his face close to her ear. "Then call out my name, Wendy."  
  
"Hook," came the automatic and insincere reply.  
  
"No, not Hook," he demanded. "James."  
  
"James," Wendy acquiesced in the same monotonous manner.  
  
"Yes." She was getting warmer, and so was he. He prepared to brace himself. "Louder."  
  
With little else but a raise in volume: "James!"  
  
It was starting to happen now, he could feel it. He dug his hook and fingertips into the mattress. "Louder!"  
  
"James!"  
  
"LOUDER!"  
  
"Jaaaaaaaaaaames!"  
  
Wendy's wail had all the musicality of a steamship's horn – that is to say, not very much. But it was enough to get Hook to his fierce zenith. And with one last mighty roar, the licentious ceremony came to its bittersweet finale. ***  
  
* * * *  
  
Some distance from the pirate ship and the unpleasantness occurring therein, a reassuring breeze fell over the mass of rock and hardened coral where a sad figure lay destitute and still. His half-closed eyes stared blankly up at the stars as they all ran together like a smudged painting. And every so often would those smudges seem to creep about, forming pictures of faces and places that seemed so very far away now. One picture currently manipulated by the stars was that of the most elegant female visage. He knew her instantly, and he would very much like to reach out and touch it but could not call upon his arms to do so. He wondered if they may still be attached to his body at all.  
  
'Twas then that the lowly figure recalled the fate that led him to this conundrum. The pain of it was too great – even more so than the one presently occupying his torn open midsection. He wanted only for it to cease, and thus he shut his eyes tight, hoping for it to be but the last time.  
  
And so he lay upon the calm of the night at the Bluff, melting into the rock as he sensed himself slipping deeper and deeper into an inner serenity. He felt as if he were falling down through a hole in the earth, but in a slow, graceful manner, like he was flying again as he did when he was a boy. And then, creeping upon his mind's eye, he saw a light. He rather assumed it must be that light of which he had heard so many speak that one encounters whence right before entering Heaven. He wanted to run to it, but he could not. He needn't to anyhow, for it crept closer and closer toward him until, at last, it leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. How marvelous, he thought.  
  
He prepared his soul to be taken away forever by this most benevolent beam, but instead it stayed precisely put, as if it would rather sit and watch him for a while. And he thought he heard it begin to speak to him softly, but not in human words. No, this sounded more like a gentle clinking of jewelry perhaps. He could not understand what the light was saying, so he tried to fixate harder upon its words, but as he did, he felt himself at once being lifted quickly from out of the hole he had descended into. This was most alarming, and he tried to stop himself, but still he rose. His one consolation was that the light rose with him, and as it did so, its words became clearer. It almost seemed to be saying his name, and something else to the effect of: "It's all right, come back to me."  
  
He could now see the surface of the hole, and he braced himself for what frightening sights he may behold outside of it. And once he breached the opening, he was stopped before a dark, blank canvas. He poked at it curiously, and somehow it made his eye twitch. Again he heard the light call out his name. Suddenly, he realized he was staring at the back his own eyelid.  
  
"Peter. Come back, Peter."  
  
The voice was clear as day now. But it was emanating from outside of himself. All at once he remembered where he was – at least where his damaged body lay. And there was someone next to him calling his name in a tiny, jingly voice. Slowly did his eyelids crawl open, and to his right side he could discern a great golden radiance shining upon him. With every last ounce of strength he could find, he turned his head toward it so that he may fix his gaze upon that which was calling for him.  
  
What his eyes met with was almost too brilliant for them to bear, and he squinted harshly. Now he could see a vague outline of what appeared to be a tiny lady. And like the face in the stars, this one too was wholly familiar. Had he been in a less hazy state of mind, he may very well have jumped to his feet and crowed upon seeing this creature. But as such that he was, all he could manage was a feeble whisper:  
  
"Tink."  
  
He could see the sprite smile at him most kindly and then lean forward to bestow another tiny kiss upon his cheek. "Yes, Peter, it is I."  
  
"Tink..." He wanted to embrace his old friend. "Tink, I shouldn't like for you to see me in this condition."  
  
"It will all be okay, Peter, you can make it so." She seemed quite optimistic.  
  
"No, Tink. I am dying."  
  
Strangely, she nodded. "Yes, you are. And so too is Neverland."  
  
Peter weakly shook his head. "Anthony shall take care of Neverland."  
  
"No, Peter. Hook has him in his clutches. Don't you remember?"  
  
He did indeed. "He will find a way out."  
  
"No, not this time."  
  
"Then Wendy shall find him and save him."  
  
"No, Peter. Hook has her too."  
  
The wound in Peter's gut burned anew. He shut his eyes tightly again. "She will get away. She will find something..."  
  
"I am afraid not. Hook has poisoned her. I saw with my own eyes."  
  
"And you did nothing?"  
  
"There is nothing I can do, Peter. Fairies are forbidden to breach the Jolly Roger under Hook's laws."  
  
"Then, the Indians...surely, they will come to their aid..."  
  
"No, no, no, Peter. They will not respond to Anthony. Don't you see? Wendy, Anthony, and everything in Neverland are now completely at the whim of Hook's control. And if you yourself are not already dead by morning, then the sea shall make quick work of you."  
  
Peter wanted badly to cry, but he had not the strength. "Why do you tell me all this, Tink?"  
  
"Because there is a way, Peter." She was growing anxious. "A way for you to right every wrong."  
  
"What could I possibly do?"  
  
With a mischievous look in her eye, Tinker Bell leaned forward and began to whisper in Peter's ear. With every word, Peter grew more and more horrified, until finally he said, "No, I can't do that."  
  
"But it's the only way..."  
  
"No, I tell you, I can't!"  
  
Tinker Bell became stern. "Then you would rather see your son become just another of Hook's minions? Your wife to become *his* wife? All of Neverland to deteriorate into a pit of despair? Is that what you want?"  
  
Peter shut his eyes again. "No, no, no, no...I want none of that. But I cannot do what you ask of me. It is too big a price to pay."  
  
The fairy folded her arms slyly. "For what, Peter? And for whom?"  
  
Peter said nothing. He could not, for she was right. The fairy King and Queen had before advised him that there would always be a price to pay, sacrifices to be made, for the life he had chosen with Wendy.  
  
Wendy. His beautiful Wendy. He would gladly die for her. And the thought of her in the arms of that scoundrel Hook was sickening. And there was no one to save her. Except...  
  
"You need only wish it, Peter," Tinker Bell whispered into his ear.  
  
It was all so very simple yet so completely overwhelming. But he would rather it be so than to have his family and this wonderful little island that he loved so dearly suffer any longer.  
  
And so with a deep breath and a lone tear rolling down his cheek, he cast a rueful smile upon his fairy.  
  
"Very well then. I wish it." 


	18. A NEW DAY

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site), somewhere halfway through the epilogue. Kimberly's story, in turn, is a continuation of P.J. Hogan's movie Peter Pan, which is of course a version of J.M. Barrie's novel Peter Pan, which is in itself a sequel (of sorts) to Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens (also by Barrie - which can be read at gutenberg.net). Confused yet? ;-)  
  
FINALLY! Yes, after a loooong hiatus, here is Chapter XVIII! I took my time writing it, as it is a very crucial chapter and I did not want to just throw something together. It is also the longest one yet but for good reason!  
  
(and P.S. – only one more chapter to go after this, which may take just as long, if not longer, than this one, so please be patient and bear with me!)  
  
So after long last, here's Chapter XVIII.......Comments please! :-)  
  
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XVIII. A NEW DAY  
  
All was still and quiet in the little room behind the captain's quarters, save for the rhythmic thumping of Wendy's heart, which beat monotonously in Captain Hook's ear. It had not changed in tempo a whit for the entire duration of their residence within the bedchamber. She had not uttered a word nor moved a muscle unless under direct insistence from Hook himself. And she had not given him her Kiss.  
  
As Hook at last slowly and sluggishly brought himself from upon her and into a seated stance before her, he gazed upon the soulless body and realized that she could not possibly give him her Kiss, for this thing lying beneath him, this hollow creature, was truly not The Wendy at all. It was only but a shell, hollowed out by his own greed and maliciousness.  
  
But looking at her now, following what should have been his long-awaited redemption, he was quite disturbed at how little at all he felt. He was dismayed by how he could possibly be so dissatisfied. Neverland was under his complete power, his one mortal enemy was, to his knowledge, lying dead on Blind Man's Bluff, and he had at last taken the fair Wendy as his own. Yet as he sat there upon that gaudy bed inside that dim room, he never felt more empty or alone.  
  
The debauched pirate watched the steady rising and lowering of Wendy's abdomen as she breathed. He let his hand settle listlessly upon her ribcage and with his hook he drew an invisible line from her solar plexus to her navel, all the time thinking how he might like to cut her open right there and snatch out her tediously beating heart with his bare hand. Perhaps then, he may feel some connection with her.  
  
One man with everything he had ever dreamed ultimately under his iron claw, and he rather fancied weeping. 'Twas the tragedy of James Hook.  
  
As was wont with the captain, he quickly remembered himself and sought to replace tears with solutions. Never having gotten anywhere by being soft and a slave to sentiments, he began poring over in his mind what he could possibly do to right these quandaries. He knew that in order for Wendy to give him the elusive Kiss, she would have to be of her own mind. He would have to reverse the potion. He needed a fairy's antidote.  
  
But what then after she is restored to her former existence? Could he really expect her to bestow upon him that which Heaven itself so craved? As arrogant as Hook was, even he could not truly believe himself to be deserving of so divine a gift. But try something – anything – he must. He had come far too close to perfection to turn away and give up on it now.  
  
With an indignant wipe of his eyes across the back of his hand, the defiant pirate captain attentively redressed Wendy in her rumpled white nightgown. He smoothed out her hair, so like a thick silken blanket, against the pillows, and placed her hands, folded, across her chest. She was so breathtaking, even for a shell, that it almost incensed Hook to bitterly recall how she had willingly given all this beauty to the likes of Peter Pan. How dreadful a waste!  
  
And right then was Hook's sudden rise of ire met with an equally thunderous clatter from outside his bedchamber. His gaze snapped doorward and his irritation was instantly exacerbated. One of his insolent crewmen must be outside the door craning for a cheap peek. Well, he would get a taste of cold steel soon enough.  
  
Now fully agitated, Hook forcefully tossed Wendy's knee from beside him and climbed from upon the bed. He quickly threw on his fancy white shirt from off the washstand and held his hook ominously at the ready. Cautiously he crept through the lattice doors and from behind the tapestry shielding it. There appeared to be not a soul within his quarters – at least not a human one. From the ornate windows within could he discern a most curious blushing glow emanating into his cabin.  
  
Just then, he heard another brief raucous from outside the main door. Oh, the sneaky scoundrel was surely to get his now! Hook tiptoed to his desk and retrieved a revolver from a top drawer. He stepped lightly toward the door, and with the merest push against it with his claw, it opened to greet a most refreshing and optimistic little breeze.  
  
The happy little gust made Hook cringe and almost bade him go back inside, but he would not let some wind keep him from making shark bait of an officious subordinate. Thus he stepped outside fully, and I daresay he nearly dropped his pistol right then at what he saw.  
  
It was the earliest implications of morning, and though still rather dark, this brand of night was wholly different. It was not the inky blackness of a frozen tundra that Hook had long ago demanded of the island. No longer were the seas still and lifeless. No more were there gloomy clouds casting their bitter shadows upon the proud moon.  
  
The island glowed with a soft violet hue; the ocean water churned and rolled happily with nary a hint of ice; and the clouds gladly gave way for the brilliant moon, all the time shimmering of a most dreadful color to Hook's cold blue eyes...  
  
*Pink*, he muttered inside his head, for to say the word aloud would taste of such filth in his mouth.  
  
Neverland was all of a sudden the bounding picture of beauty and lightheartedness that Hook had for so long kept under tight repression. He now stood agape before an entire world that was his nemesis – a world that did not accept him but only those of the purest hearts and faith. When just hours before he held the reigns upon every breath of air to circulate through Neverland, he suddenly found himself but an unwelcome outsider.  
  
With hand and hook trembling, the captain skulked out from the shadows of his cabin door to take an unwanted yet necessary closer look at the waking nightmare before him. Having forgotten all about the intruder to his quarters, he fixed his eyes seaward, where he could just decipher the first indications of a dastardly sunrise on the horizon.  
  
With Hook's attentions clearly occupied elsewhere other than his cabin door, he noticed not when a tiny dot of light darted from the rear of the ship behind him and inside his quarters. The swift sprite dashed about the room, looking for the other side of the porthole that it had gazed through earlier in the night. Small as she was, she was quickly able to come upon the hidden door behind the tapestry, and therein did she find Wendy, still lying entranced and staring blankly up toward the ceiling. The fairy flew in a circle just above Wendy's face, sprinkling a very special dose of dust upon her. And with a mighty gasp just as the fairy darted off, Wendy's eyes lit up and she sat straight forward, breathing heavily – all at once again renewed; her body, mind, and soul all having been restored just as they were before taking that dreadful elixir. No memories of what had occurred during her spell, and her body no longer having known the vile touch of the pirate captain Hook.  
  
Outside, Hook had nary the time to process a thought on the matters before him when he was suddenly struck from behind – a most forceful blow upon his back which sent him careening toward the railing of the upper deck. He landed, facedown, but inches from the banister, but the impact left his pistol not quite so lucky, and it went spilling over the side in between the bars and onto the deck below.  
  
Wendy, her eyes still adjusting to her most peculiar surroundings, heard this din, and with every intention of making her way from this desolate little room she suddenly found herself in, she raced for the lattice doors and toward the thumping sound she had discerned.  
  
Hook quickly scrambled to his back to confront the beast who had hit him, but there was not a foe to be found. Perhaps it had come from the roof of his cabin, and so Hook grappled to his feet, eyes cast aftward, using the railing for leverage. But when his hand came down upon it, it did not meet with wood. Rather it felt soft and warm, almost as flesh. Hook turned his head around and saw he was indeed grasping a human foot. A smallish foot. Quite a familiar foot.  
  
Thus did Hook's eyes ascend toward what was attached to that foot, and that leg, and the narrow hips, and the small bare chest, until finally it rested upon the eyes. And the smug smile proceeding the raising of a shoddy sword to Hook's throat. But the pirate scarcely noticed the sword. What his eyes set upon now was even worse than all the rollicking waves or pink clouds he had just been admonishing.  
  
'Twas when Wendy came hastily bounding from within the cabin, bursting through the main door. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Hook only meters away, on bended knee just before the railing. Upon hearing her approach, he turned and looked at her, a most disturbed expression twisting upon his already cynical face. But it was not due to Wendy's sudden liberation from his misguided spell. What he was kneeling before gave him great cause for concern indeed, thus Wendy allowed her own eyes to drift toward the source of his discomfort.  
  
There, standing upon the top of the railing in a most defiant challenge to gravity, was a boy. But no ordinary boy. Indeed, a most wonderful boy. A boy who radiated such a glorious aura that one might mistake him for a very large fairy himself, had his absence of wings not given him away. This was a boy whose visage had for so many years graced the precious dreams of countless children, including Wendy's, longing ever so much to never grow up. In fact, this boy's face might be the very reason dreams were invented.  
  
And no one knew this face better than Wendy. For it was the heartless face of Peter Pan.  
  
"I've got you now, Hook!" crowed the boy in a voice that had not touched a single ear in nearly a score. And upon Wendy's intrusion onto the scene, he shot her a glance and gave her a respectful nod of the head. "Fear not, lady, for I shall save you!"  
  
But Wendy could not reply. She could scarcely breathe. She silently prayed she was merely still under Hook's spell and was having a ghastly nightmare – the worst one of all. The one that had so plagued her in the first years of her marriage.  
  
It simply could not *be*.  
  
And what was ever so much worse was that this boy seemed to not know Wendy at all.  
  
Hook, on the other hand, was not quite so moved. If his lengthy residence in Neverland had taught him nothing else, it was to expect the unexpected. Peter Pan had escaped death at his hand – or hook – times before, thus the captain was not wholly taken aback by this fresh curiosity before him. It was a great feeling of inconvenience that consumed Hook now. And all he could think to do was rid himself one last desperate time of this proud and insolent youth.  
  
And so, with a terrible snarl aimed upon Peter Pan – standing so erect in nothing more than the workpants Wendy's husband had earlier been wearing rolled up to the knees and cinched hastily at the waist with some vines – Hook bellowed upon his ship:  
  
"ALL HANDS!!!"  
  
And in a flash, Hook's hideous band of shipmates came pouring from every side of the Jolly Roger, weapons at the ready, and surrounded Hook and the Boy. But the latter appeared quite indifferent. In fact, his smugness only seemed to intensify. And in response to Hook's call to arms, the Boy shouted out an order himself:  
  
"NOW!"  
  
And with that, the pirate ship was suddenly scaled and overrun with a most overwhelming number of Indians. They did not wait for any further orders from their leader but rather charged straight away toward their pirate targets. They infiltrated every level of the deck, including Hook's cabin whereupon Wendy was forced to retreat back therein.  
  
Hook, as yet unarmed, took full advantage of the sudden distractions around them to coil his lone weapon – his iron claw – around Peter Pan's ankle and pull violently forward, attempting to trip up the boy. However, Pan was too light and merely spun into a startled back-flip in mid-air, but he was caught off guard just enough for Hook to be able to reach out and grab hold of the boy's trousers and toss him most violently into the outside cabin wall behind them. Peter crashed hard into the thick wood, his sword falling from his hand and clunking listlessly into the doorway of Hook's cabin.  
  
With great haste did Peter grapple to regain himself and his sword before Hook could get to it first. But before either one of them could lay claim to it, Peter's hand swooped down upon where the sword had fallen to find it was no longer there. Instead, it was presently being held aloft by the lovely lady whom Peter had seen standing in the doorway just moments before.  
  
There Wendy stood, sword brandished, hands trembling, and heart pounding. She did not look at Peter – she dared not to, for to look upon him might make the nightmare real. Thus she kept her eyes fixed in the opposite direction, at Hook, standing and waiting guardedly for what Wendy might do. She had so very little recourse to express or even process all the thoughts and emotions racing through her head at that moment. She knew she needed to react, but she knew not how or to whom.  
  
But as her gaze settled more steadily upon Captain Hook, a subtle rage began to boil within her. So many terrible things were afoot, things she could not understand, and only did that evil pirate seem the root of it all. She must strike out. And the foreboding figure before her was as appropriate a target as any.  
  
Taking both Peter Pan and Hook by surprise, Wendy took a fierce charge at the captain, swinging Peter's sword violently, missing Hook by mere inches but inducing him into a deep crouch upon the deck floor, just at the top of the stairs leading to the deck below.  
  
"Hey, wait a minute!" Peter called out, quite offended that this intrusive lady was purloining his opponent.  
  
Recovering from her clumsy follow-through, Wendy observed Hook's precarious positioning, and she quickly stepped forward to nudge Hook harshly upon his hip with her foot, sending the pirate tumbling down the short flight of stairs, stopping only whence colliding with the broad mizzenmast centered upon the main deck. Wendy briskly followed on foot, the sword's aim never wavering from Hook's throat.  
  
Peter may very well have followed too had he not been promptly distracted by his loyal fairy, Tinker Bell, sprinting up from the decks below to tug on and jingle excitedly into Peter's ear.  
  
"What?" Peter blurted as he listened, feeling most put out. "*Now*?"  
  
Yes, Tinker Bell was quite insistent.  
  
"Alright, if I must!"  
  
Thus Peter swooped down from atop the upper deck and stealthily made his way around warring Indians and bloodthirsty pirates so that he may access the ship's grim hold below. Under Tinker Bell's guidance was he able to find that for which he was searching – a small cage chained to the wall containing an anxious little boy.  
  
Peter, not quite knowing how a predicament such as this could have occurred without his knowledge, decided ultimately not to ask questions but to liberate the boy as Tinker Bell had requested.  
  
"Fear not, I shall set you free," Peter avowed, diving down toward the notch on the far wall where the keys hung unguarded.  
  
Anthony, feeling quite groggy and achy as if just awakening from a long, deep sleep, open and shut his eyes several times to try and make heads or tails of the curious older boy floating before his prison. He rather thought he should know this boy, but alas, he could not possibly.  
  
"Who are you?" Anthony asked.  
  
"I am Peter Pan!" the boy proclaimed with much pride, speedily unlocking and unlatching the cage door.  
  
"Oh!" Anthony exclaimed cheerily, stepping outside, "Just like my father!"  
  
But this Peter Pan suddenly froze and became quite threatening at these words.  
  
"I am like *nobody's* 'father'," he sneered.  
  
Anthony, never having been easily frightened before, now found himself suddenly quite intimidated by this older boy, and he knew not else what to do but nod his head rapidly in compliance with his firm statement.  
  
But then, quite incredibly, as effortlessly as you and I might flip a light switch, so how did Peter Pan instantly slip back into his merry disposition!  
  
"What is your name?" he asked.  
  
"Um...Anthony," came the staggered reply.  
  
Peter rose once again into the air and amiably gestured for Anthony to follow him back up the stairs leading from out of the hold.  
  
"Well, Anthony, let's go kill us some pirates!"  
  
Suddenly feeling quite exuberant, Anthony braced himself to follow and rocked on the balls of his feet so as to rise to meet this Peter Pan. But alas, he stayed absolutely put. Again he tried to lift himself, but it was for naught. And so he remained frozen upon the floor below the stairs.  
  
Peter sensed the boy named Anthony was not following, and so he turned to see what might be keeping him. Upon seeing the awfully concerned expression on Anthony's face, Peter asked, "What's wrong?"  
  
Incredulously, Anthony replied, "I cannot fly!"  
  
Peter made quite the rhetorical face and said, "Of course you cannot fly. I haven't yet taught you how!"  
  
As completely befuddled by this statement as Anthony was, he was fairly loathe to ask any further questions of this strange and daunting young boy with his father's namesake. Thus he remained mum as he followed him up the stairs, whereupon they were hastily bombarded with a dozen or more battle- ready pirates...  
  
On the main deck, amidst a whirl of chaos and bloodshed, a menacing stillness encircled the immediate area around the main mast. Captain Hook leaned sitting against it, the tip of Peter Pan's sword aimed squarely at his jugular. And on the other end of that sword, a wholly displeased Wendy stood tall over him.  
  
She looked down upon him with narrow eyes, knowing that just one small lunge forward and the wicked pirate's doom would be sealed. Yet she could not quite talk herself into pulling this trigger. And incredibly, Hook made no move to defend himself, even with an iron claw attached to his arm. Instead, he met Wendy's gaze and fiercely searched for one last gleam of compassion from this honorable woman. But she was wise to keep her distance enough so as not to be further influenced by his icy blue eyes.  
  
"Wendy," Hook attempted his plea, "Hast thou so soon forgotten how you quivered beneath my touch?"  
  
But this incitation was quickly met with a cautioning press upon his throat with the tip of her sword.  
  
"I never quivered," she retorted with venom. "I shuddered."  
  
I daresay the depraved pirate had yet to encounter so wounding as these words. And akin to any injured beast, he could only respond in kind.  
  
His lips curled into a livid snarl, thus quickly warning Wendy that a real fight may shortly ensue. Thus the very instant she saw Hook raise his claw to pitch aside her sword, she withdrew it herself first in favor of her clenched left fist, which she allowed to ferociously collide with Hook's cheek. The blow quite literally flung the captain aside, but Wendy knew she had only mere moments to shake off her bloody knuckles before Hook would come back up swinging himself.  
  
But the adrenaline coursing through her veins was no match for the wounded and unarmed pirate now, and as he bolted back upright, she brought up her sword anew and with all her might swung it toward his head. Hook hit the deck, and her blade missed him literally by a hair – slicing off a goodly clump of his black curls as the sword wedged into the mast.  
  
Hook struggled heartily to ascend upright, but before he could fully gain his footing, Wendy tore the sword from out of the mast and began to swing her it violently at him, bereft of any skill or strategy, so that Hook had nary a logical method with which to defend himself properly against this crazed onslaught. His only means of resistance was to continue to ward off sporadic blows with his hook and to stumble backwards, giving little notice to how cunningly he was being lured toward the open plank scupper on the starboard side of the ship...  
  
A handful of Indians had come to the aid of Peter Pan and Anthony, frightfully outnumbered by their pirate foes in the hold. Little Anthony had not yet faced real combat until this time, and as heartily as he may have been anticipating such a day, he was rather dismayed to discover how curiously ill-adept he was at such exploits! Countless were the incidences when he found himself hopelessly on the brink of defeat when his new companion Peter Pan would have to swoop in with only seconds to spare in order to, yet again, rescue the boy from further peril. It was a most distressing state of affairs indeed.  
  
Dangerously close to the portentous opening within the gunwall Hook was, and Wendy, seizing her chance, took one last fearsome swipe of her sword across the pirate's chest. Hook attempted yet another step backward, but his left ankle unhappily met with the left side of the scupper, and with a grotesque flail did he lurch backwards in between the edges of the opening where the nasty plank was presently absent. Thankfully for Hook was he able to catch the railing of the gunwall with his claw, clamping down upon it as his dug his heels onto the deck floor. But still his left side flung hazardously overboard, and a quick glimpse toward the waters below boasted a most terrifying sight for the pirate – swimming in a most ominous circle straight beneath were the mermaids, gazing up at the endangered captain with hungry eyes, awaiting his tumble into their deadly siren's grasp.  
  
Imaging a torturous death at the mermaids' hands far more poetically gruesome than being swallowed whole by a crocodile, Hook gave a mighty throw of his dangling body back toward the scupper and pulled himself forward through the hole with his other hand now able to grasp the opposite railing. But he was not to gain much advantage, as before he could scarcely lug his backside back onto the safety of the deck's edge, Wendy had confronted upon him, crouching down before him between his knees, the entire blade of her sword directly under his chin.  
  
She may very well have slit his throat right then, her fortified knuckles digging into his flesh being all that stood between her blade and his blood. But, alas, something stayed her hand.  
  
Having likely forgotten herself during her temporary lapse into madness, Wendy dared to one more time stare into the cold eyes of Captain Hook. But she fancied something wholly different within these tiny blue seas. Something she could not recall having perceived before from the likes of this embittered pirate. As he stared back up at her, breathing in heavy and shaky breaths, his eyes swam in a dull blanket of true sadness...of true fear. 'Twas then whence Wendy realized that her free hand was affixed firmly upon his heart-space.  
  
Hook was aware of this too, and fortifying his clutch onto the scupper with his claw, he removed his one good hand from the railing and pressed it against hers, his eyes never straying from her own. If any doubts had before existed as to whether or not a functioning heart really did reside within the evil captain's chest, Wendy had her fingers affected upon the truth of the matter now.  
  
Thus did Wendy suddenly feel her own heart long to reach out to him, this pathetic, depraved man, with nothing but a shoddy sword between he and the fairer sex wielding it. How could she not feel pity? One could make quite the case out of the notion that Wendy's much honored warmth and compassion, although her very finest virtues, were just as equally her greatest hubris.  
  
"Wendy," Hook beseeched one last time. "Must it end this way between us?"  
  
Indeed, could she really commit such an act, to kill a man with her bare hands simply because she found herself in such a position to do so? Hook surely thought not. But what of Peter? And Anthony? What of Wendy herself even?  
  
"I..." began Wendy's dubious reply, "I suppose it must."  
  
Hook squeezed her hand anxiously. "Very well. Then if it is to be so, might I...entreat of you...one final request?"  
  
In the name of Good Form, how was Wendy to refuse? It could easily have been another one of Hook's dastardly tricks, but the curse of his eyes negated such considerations from entering Wendy's mind.  
  
And with a merciful nod, thus did she tread right into his design.  
  
"Yes."  
  
A wistful grin happened upon Hook's face. "One last kiss from the Fair Wendy?"  
  
The hopeful yet utterly pitiable gleam in Hook's eyes would have been enough, but whence she saw them begin to grow moist and glassy, she knew it to be fair too cruel to decline him this one simple plea.  
  
And so, letting her sword drift down and sit harmlessly upon Hook's knee, Wendy warily leaned forward, not letting her eyes wander off of his, until at last she allowed their lips to come together.  
  
At last had the marvelous moment arrived whence Wendy herself would willingly place her Heavenly Kiss upon the captain. Soon shall he become a new man, atoned, absolved of his corruption and wantonness, free from the shackles of all the wicked deeds and thoughts and feelings that had consumed him for centuries. Oh, sweet liberty had finally come!  
  
But alas, as Wendy pulled back gently from him, believing her duty to be aptly fulfilled, Hook remained, eyes closed, brow furrowed, as if concentrating very hard on feelings that were most regrettably destined not to come. No ringing bells, no turning pink, no great epiphanies, no soaring through the air in ecstasy...nothing but the same dreadful sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.  
  
'Twas then that the wretched old pirate let his eyelids part, and the spell they had held upon Wendy was instantly quashed. No longer were these the eyes of a pitiful man yearning desperately for redemption. I daresay Wendy's Hidden Kiss imparted quite the contrary effect on Captain Hook as it had on her beloved Peter.  
  
Indeed, Hook found himself not the picture of glory as he had foreseen – he was sadly so very more shrouded in loathing and disgust than ever he had been before.  
  
And Wendy instantly became afraid. But she had not a chance at all to react before Hook's hand cruelly wrenched itself from hers and knocked Peter's sword from her fist. The upending of her wrist upon his knee nudged her slightly forward, far enough for Hook to swing his arm back and tightly around her neck. She began to struggle and push on him until he quite deliberately let himself lean backwards across the scupper, taking her with him as he hung precariously over the side of his ship. Wendy also soon saw the mermaids below, and she knew all too well that despite their great aid to her so many times in the past, they would not think twice about dragging even her down to a watery grave.  
  
"I am so sorry, m'dear," Hook taunted, "but if one of us is to die, I would much rather it be you."  
  
The captain was regrettably beyond reproach now, which made it wholly easier for Wendy to fight for her life and for her life only this time. But there was scarcely anywhere for her to go, and so she attempted to wriggle out from under Hook's arm, but to little avail.  
  
A new raucous sprung from the other side of the ship when suddenly a mad rush emanated from the hold. Out from under pounced a great number of victorious Indians, some wielding freshly obtained scalps, some rather frazzled pirates, and also two bruised yet zealous little boys battling their way back onto the main deck of the ship. Peter Pan crowed loudly as he cleaved to the brisket another lowly buccaneer, and Anthony once again nodded his obligation to the older boy for bailing him from another lost battle. But by this time, Peter was well on his way to another conquest, leaving Anthony to find trouble elsewhere.  
  
He needn't search long when he heard a most horrible yet familiar cry from the starboard side of the ship. His head was blown instantly in that direction, whereupon he saw the ghastly struggle between Wendy and Hook within the plank scupper. And without even thinking about it, he heard himself cry:  
  
"Mummy!"  
  
His new mission now wholly clear, Anthony raced toward the starboard gunwall as fast as his grounded little legs could take him. Could he still fly, he would have easily been able to evade the many obstacles that lay between he and his mother, but of course he could not any longer, and so he had to make his way to his target on foot, dodging cutlasses here, turning away daggers there, running through a meddlesome adversary or three, all so automatic as his determination to save his mother carried him fearlessly through this horrible sea of mayhem.  
  
At last did he find himself within proper distance of Wendy and Hook, and with a resolute swipe of his dagger, he carved a monstrous gash down the outside of Hook's arm. At once did the pirate cry out in pain and throw his arm back. And before Wendy could go tumbling into the waters below, Anthony grabbed hold of her and hoisted her up onto the deck.  
  
Wendy wasted not a moment of claiming the upper hand, and upon regaining her footing, she spun around to face the captain, now in imminent danger of slipping overboard. And for likely the very first time, she truly saw Captain Hook.  
  
This was not a man to be pitied. He deserved no pity. He was beyond redemption – 'twas not ever meant for him. He was only to be reviled and disavowed; to be kept under tight lock-and-key in the most vacuous and shameful nightmares. To allow him to slither into your thoughts and emotions was to be tempted by the very Devil himself. Wendy could see this now. How very foolish and weak-willed she had been. But no longer.  
  
And with one final liberating kick, she shoved the pirate over the scupper to render him completely suspended over the side of the ship by nothing more than his hook.  
  
He thrashed about violently, trying to claw his way back to the railing with his free hand. Almost in reflex did his eyes drift downwards, and a shiver engulfed him as he saw a most macabre sight – the mermaids, now in a perfect diamond-shaped formation, all with their arms outstretched upwards to him, beckoning him into their deadly lair.  
  
Hook quickly spun back around to make one final effort to hoist himself up, but he froze when he saw the two wholly disgusted faces staring back down on him – and the hands attached to these faces ominously gripping his claw.  
  
With her fingers wrapped tightly around his hook, Wendy gazed one last time into the piercing blue eyes, only to see the true abhorrence within. Thus Hook knew instantly that he could no longer appeal to Wendy. His spell on her had been utterly broken. And he was doomed.  
  
So it was with great peculiarity that Hook's reaction to his imminent fate was a rather inconvenienced rolling of his eyes, as if more annoyed than afraid. And upon perceiving his admission of defeat, Wendy, with the help of her son, pried Hook's claw from out of the ship's railing, and so very ceremoniously did they let it slip from their hands and over the side.  
  
Only the merest of gasps emanated from Hook's mouth as he went sailing toward the water below. He was instantly caught by the mermaids before he even graced the surface, and converging upon him like a school of piranha, the eerie sirens lead the pirate down to Davy Jones's locker.  
  
And just like that, all battles aboard the ship ceased. The pirates suddenly threw down their weapons and fled below decks whilst some others boarded the dinghy and rowed out to sea. The Indians gave out quite the din of war cries and began to dance in victorious celebration.  
  
Wendy fell to her knees and flung her arms around Anthony, who, I am happy to report, quite gladly returned the gesture in kind. She embraced him tighter than she had ever dared to just a day before. And it was the sweetest paradise she had happened upon in quite some time. But her brief respite of contentment was quickly infringed upon by a most spirited young boy come to stand before them, casting disappointed glances over the ship's railing.  
  
"Oh, you didn't wait for me!" Peter Pan whined, staring into the now-still waters below. But just as quickly, he straightened and shrugged. "Oh well, I shall get him next time."  
  
Wendy blinked away subtle tears as she stared up at the boy. In her vehemence to overcome Hook, she had nearly forgotten this most curious and unsettling phenomenon.  
  
Next time? There was to be a next time?  
  
Gingerly, Wendy rose to her feet, her stomach twisting in knots as she found herself having to look *down* upon he who was once her beloved husband but now a mere fresh-faced young boy.  
  
"Peter..." was all she could manage.  
  
Upon hearing the name, Anthony right then had an epiphany. "Mummy! Where is Daddy?"  
  
Wendy froze, but Peter spoke instead.  
  
"Aw, you brought BOTH your parents here?" he scolded Anthony.  
  
The younger boy looked away sheepishly, quite nervous. "Well, no...You see, they came here themselves to find me and take me home." His brow lowered as if he himself was fairly surprised by what he was about to say: "And...I think...I should like to go back after all."  
  
He looked up at his mother as if she might hold the answer as to why he would suddenly want to leave Neverland. But she had no answers at all. However, her delight at hearing Anthony's alarming decision served as a very temporary tonic for her current plight.  
  
"Is this all right with you, Mummy?" Anthony asked with wide, precious eyes.  
  
She ran her fingers through his hair. "Yes, of course it is, my darling."  
  
"Oh, come now!" Peter broke in. "Wouldn't you rather stay here and become a Lost Boy?"  
  
Anthony backed up against his mother, should his response raise the ire of this lad.  
  
"But," he began, "I am not lost anymore."  
  
At first, Peter seemed confused by this statement, but a quick glance at the boy's lovely mother and he understood, and he sighed.  
  
"Very well. Perhaps you can come back and visit sometime."  
  
Wendy was very near fainting as Peter continued to speak in such permanent terms. Surely, this was just some illusion. Some very horrible, transitory illusion.  
  
"So you are truly to stay here, Peter?" Wendy asked breathlessly.  
  
Peter looked to her most bizarrely before leaping into the air joyfully. "I will always stay in Neverland, of course!"  
  
And just like that, as suddenly as he appeared, Peter Pan was gone, having darted off from the ship and over the island beyond. Wendy ran to the railing to watch him disappear into the sky, so like how she had watched Anthony vanish from her view over Kensington Gardens years before.  
  
"Peter, wait!" she called out desperately.  
  
She felt Anthony tug at her dress. "Mummy, is he going to find Daddy? They have the same name, you know!"  
  
Wendy looked down upon her son, in much wonder as to how he may be so unable to put the two together. But he seemed hopelessly oblivious to the fact that the boy whom just flew off *was* his Daddy.  
  
Thus could she only place a reassuring yet trembling hand upon her son's head, remaining mum as she herself attempted to make sense of what was happening around her.  
  
And then, staring off at the sunrise, within the rolling jungles of Neverland, she thought she heard the familiar echo of a little boy crowing. 


	19. SACRIFICE

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is picking up where Kimberly Appelcline's "The First Kiss" fanfic leaves off (you can find the fic on this very site), somewhere halfway through the epilogue.  
  
So, HERE IT IS, my final chapter!! WHEW! It's been a blast, you guys, I hope you enjoyed it as much I have!  
  
**NOTE: I have made a rather pretentious little media site dedicated to this story (heheh), featuring some extras such as a proposed "soundtrack" and full-color illustrations and other pertinent information relating to this fanfic. So please visit! Simply remove the spaces from the following web address:  
  
geocities.com / zigs1379  
  
THANKS!! And now here's the conclusion, Chapter XIX. Please send comments! :-)  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------  
  
XIX. SACRIFICE  
  
So he had wished it.  
  
This was the too simple answer to the great riddle that Wendy had not even considered as she was rowed back to shore by the Indians. She had rather forgotten how the fairies told her that Peter's own ability to make whatever he wished become true would restore him to his coveted boyhood. But that was long before he sacrificed all of it in order to spend his life with her. And Wendy scarcely could imagine that the offer of eternal youth would remain open to him...Or that he would one day reclaim it.  
  
But this is precisely what was revealed to her as she sat sullenly before the fairy court in the forest. Tinker Bell was there as well, listening intently but keeping her distance. Wendy stared numbly at the ground, trying to process everything she was hearing, only occasionally lifting her head to glance about her in order to make sure that Anthony was still off playing somewhere that he could not listen to any of it. He needn't be aware of this. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.  
  
But the story did not quite conclude there. Peter's wish was but the end to a great many means, as Wendy came to discover. And with swollen eyes, she raised her head to the Fairy King and Queen, mouth agape.  
  
"'Twas all your doing this whole time."  
  
"Not entirely," the King confessed. "We were mere instruments at the disposal of a much greater power."  
  
"What power?"  
  
The Queen smiled sweetly. "Why, Neverland of course."  
  
"I don't understand." Wendy was beginning to tear.  
  
The King flew over to Wendy and sat next to her upon the tree root she currently occupied. "You see, my dear, Neverland is ever so much more than just an island. Even more than a paradise where all things magical and hopeful can coexist in harmony. Neverland is *alive*, Wendy. Much like any creature. It has thoughts and feelings, loyalties and enemies, just like you or I, or Peter, or even Captain Hook. But more than anything else, Neverland is so like a child. Indeed, 'tis in Neverland where the hopes and dreams of all children come to thrive, so it only stands to reason. And just as a child does, Neverland needs to be properly cared for, to be cultivated so much like a well-pruned garden. And nobody has ever shown so much care and nurturing for this little island than Peter Pan. Ever."  
  
"Neverland knew this to be true the moment Peter left with you for good," the Queen added. "'Tis how it became so vulnerable to Hook's whims. Neverland fell quite ill. Neverland was dying."  
  
"And Anthony could not save it?" Wendy asked.  
  
"Anthony could only treat the symptoms, but he was not the cure," the King explained. "He had enough of the Pan magic in him to be a temporary solution until Peter could return to save it completely."  
  
Wendy suddenly found herself quite perturbed. "So...you *used* my son to lure Peter back to Neverland so that it could steal him back, away from me and his children?"  
  
"That was not our decision to make, Wendy." The Queen sighed. "And it was not our intention to 'steal' him from you. Alas, he had always really belonged to Neverland anyhow. As far as it was concerned, 'twas only reclaiming what rightfully belonged to it."  
  
Wendy only shook her head and let it fall under her whisper. "How very selfish..."  
  
The Queen smiled. "As I have told you, Neverland is but a mere child. And are not all children quite selfish and careless?"  
  
And none were ever more so than Peter Pan, and Wendy knew it. With every word, it became clearer to her how quite inseparable Peter and Neverland were – both so very selfish and heartless; both the very figures of all children's fantasies. Perhaps they needed each other more than Wendy had ever realized. Perhaps they were never supposed to have been separated forever.  
  
"And so this was planned all along," Wendy thought aloud. "Anthony being taken from us, Peter and I coming back to find him..."  
  
"Oh, it started long before then, Wendy," the King said. "I daresay this has been preordained all along. Even before Peter met you."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"From the moment Peter first hovered over you while you slept as a child, to the moment Tinker Bell sneaked a satchel of fairy dust in Peter's pocket before he left, all these instances have lead us precisely to whence we are sitting at this very moment."  
  
The Queen continued. "Meeting you, marrying you, having Anthony, the storm in Kensington Gardens, Hook fatally wounding Peter...these were not a one of them a mere accident."  
  
"But I don't understand," Wendy cried in frustration. "If Peter was always meant for Neverland, why was he to leave at all?"  
  
"Isn't it perfectly obvious?" the Queen responded. "So that little Anthony could be born."  
  
Wendy was not satisfied. "Why should that matter to anyone other than Peter and I?"  
  
At this point, the King rose from next to Wendy and floated about the air, his wrists crossed behind his back in a most philosophical fashion.  
  
"It is wholly important that a part of Peter Pan be able to exist and multiply within your world," he stated, looking upon Wendy gravely. "You are entering most cynical and troubled times, dear Wendy. Now more than ever do you and your fellow people need a spirit such as Anthony's to give them hope through hopeless days to come. He is to do great things for mankind, as only the son of Peter Pan could be expected. He is quite a special boy, you know."  
  
Wendy could not help but smile. Anthony was indeed special. The dearest thing to her heart besides her daughters and her husband.  
  
"So, you see," the Queen chimed in, "Anthony was not quite just some lure to bring Peter back to us. His purpose is far greater than that, I can assure you. And it was imperative that he spend that time with the fairies and birds of Kensington, and most certainly was it essential that he see Neverland for himself, for all this shall prepare him for the strength and leadership he will display in your world in the years to come."  
  
Wendy was wholly pleased to hear such glowing words of her son. But the more they spoke, suddenly the smaller she herself felt. Where was *her* purpose in all of this? Was she simply some vessel from which this Wonder Boy was to be sprung? These new thoughts pervading her head brought her back to the tears and dismay of before.  
  
"But what of me?" she asked. "Did I truly mean nothing to Peter then? Was I just some pawn in all these grand destinies to take place?"  
  
"Oh, my dear!" The Fairy Queen fluttered to Wendy and settled blithely on her knee. "You mustn't feel that way at all. 'Twas his great love for you that has made all this possible. I do not think you can have any doubts, in your heart of hearts, as to how much he adored you. Indeed, two of the very most important decisions he has ever made in his life – to leave and grow up and to return and become a boy again – he has made out of his undying devotion to you."  
  
"So that not only could Neverland survive, but you and your children could be saved as well," the King added.  
  
The tears were flowing freely now, but not wholly out of sadness any longer.  
  
"What a price to pay..." she whispered.  
  
"Indeed," said the Queen, wiping a tear larger than her own hand from Wendy's cheek. "But 'tis this sacrifice he made to save so many more. So children everywhere may again have a place of solace and wonder to turn to in their most precious of dreams."  
  
So much deeper was it beginning to set in for Wendy as to the permanence of this situation. She would have to leave Neverland just as she had expected to but a day before, but instead of departing with Peter and leaving her son behind, it was Anthony who would be joining her and her husband whom she would have to let go. And to be sure, she would not have even the luxury of such a choice had Peter not made the decision that he did. He would surely be dead, and she and Anthony would still be under Hook's diabolical spell. And Neverland would be a shriveled wasteland. Was there truly no going back?  
  
Quickly did Wendy's mind think back to what had started all of this for her and Peter in the first place – her Kiss. It was her Kiss that proved to be the catalyst for Peter's maturity and ultimate surrendering of his reigns on Neverland, all for her. Just maybe...  
  
"What if..." – And she was grasping for straws – "...if I were to...kiss him again?"  
  
The King and Queen exchanged a pitying look.  
  
"You may do so until the end of time itself," the Queen began delicately, "but never will the kiss of a grown woman effect Peter Pan the way the thimble from that young girl aboard the pirate ship had so long ago."  
  
Wendy knew it to be so. How could she even consider kissing a little boy the way she had kissed Peter that crucial night in their youth? It would never be the same.  
  
And if this notion were not harsh enough, Wendy soon felt her thoughts descend upon an even more concerning matter – a most dreadful notion indeed. Thus with wide, terrified eyes did she once more address the fairy court.  
  
"But...what if," she stuttered, "Peter were to...fly away with some other little girl..."  
  
She could not go on. The idea was simply too excruciating.  
  
But such rotten thoughts the Fairy Queen was quite hasty to alleviate. With a reassuring smile, she said, "Dear child, just as there can only be one Peter Pan, also is there only but one Wendy. And so shall there always be."  
  
Wendy felt herself able to breathe once again.  
  
"You are still his wife," the King added, "And though he may not appear to acknowledge it any longer, somewhere deep inside, he will always know this to be true."  
  
For the first time, Wendy smiled at the thought of the new-old Peter.  
  
"I will see to this!" Tinker Bell suddenly chimed in quite brazenly.  
  
And now did Wendy actually laugh. Good old Tink, just as saucy as always.  
  
But quickly did Tinker Bell's exuberance turn to humbleness when she saw the King and Queen cast eyes on her, and she lowered her head respectfully.  
  
"That is," she began sheepishly, "if I may."  
  
The King smiled upon her. "You have proven yourself quite worthy of the task, Tinker Bell." Then his gaze turned slightly stern. "And now that Peter is back, I trust we shall have no further trouble from you."  
  
Tinker Bell's light grew instantly brighter. "Quite not! Thank you, Your Majesties!" And with a mid-air curtsy, Tinker Bell reclaimed her inconspicuous spot near Wendy.  
  
Wendy could feel herself slowly becoming more at peace with this most jarring situation – at least for now. She may very well have been in denial, and if so, all the better, for she knew she would soon have to leave Neverland and return to London to sort out her and her children's lives anew. To live will indeed be an awfully big adventure.  
  
Oh, her children!  
  
"What am I to tell my children?" Wendy asked starkly.  
  
"I'm afraid that is not up to us to decide," the King proclaimed.  
  
"You took him away from me and his son and daughters," Wendy retorted. "And I would like to know what I should tell them when I return home without their father. You at least owe me that."  
  
But the King held firm. "We could not presume to hand you such delicate answers. You will know what to say when the time comes."  
  
Wendy exhaled heavily. She so very much hoped they were right. But still, she felt that the fairies – alas, Neverland itself – were obliged to her somehow, for bringing Peter back to them and walking away willingly though begrudgingly.  
  
"In that case," she negotiated, "Can you at least arrange a safe passage home for myself and my son? I daresay I could not find my way back, even with all the fairy dust in Neverland."  
  
The King and Queen nodded their heads to her. "Of course."  
  
Wendy made a move to rise, but she stopped as one last barter entered her mind.  
  
"I can never come back, can I?"  
  
The King tilted his head considerately. "We would never deny you entrance. Neverland is forever indebted to you and would always welcome you. The challenge lies within your ability to find a means with which to return."  
  
And so Wendy had her answer – a definitive no. She and Peter had found their way back on a fluke – or rather, on Neverland's good graces. She highly doubted Tinker Bell would slip a satchel of fairy dust in *her* pocket as she was leaving.  
  
So with that, Wendy rose waveringly from her tree root seat and bid the fairy court farewell. And she thanked them, though she made it clear that she was only doing so in gratefulness for their kind answers and for nothing more. She could not very well thank them for taking Peter from her, no matter how accustomed to the idea she might ever become.  
  
And before she took her leave, she asked where she might find Peter, to which Tinker Bell responded that she had left him last atop the outlook platform above the tree home. And so that was whence she headed.  
  
Wendy first stopped on the way to check upon Anthony, still playing most contentedly with some of the Indian children in the forest. So sweetly oblivious to all the turmoil around him.  
  
From outside of the tree home, Wendy could see the small silhouette of Peter Pan crouched upon the lookout platform above. He appeared to be toiling at something.  
  
Wendy made her way wearily up the rickety ladder toward the top of the platform, her heart sinking further which each step. This would surely by far turn out to be the most difficult moment of her life. And the cruelest part was, Peter would never realize it.  
  
When Wendy breached the platform, she found Peter sitting cross-legged, his back to her, fiddling with the soiled workshirt that he had arrived in Neverland wearing. He was tearing off little bits here and there and affixing an assortment of leaves, vines, and acorns to it, although with amusingly little success, though he seemed not to care. So like Peter not to care. He was simply having fun.  
  
"Hello, Peter," Wendy said softly, standing full upon the platform.  
  
Instantly did Peter shoot up into the air with a gasp. He spun around to look at her, his features obscured by the rising sun behind him.  
  
Wendy squinted up at him, holding a hand aloft. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."  
  
Peter folded his arms indignantly and let himself begin to settle back to the platform. "I wasn't scared! You just snuck up on me is all."  
  
Now his feet once again touched the ground, and he continued to stand erect for a few moments until he suddenly seemed to remember he was in the presence of a lady, and so he bowed deeply before her.  
  
Out of reflex did Wendy respond with a light curtsy, but the gesture was cut short when her eye caught upon a shiny golden object dangling from Peter's now-unobstructed chest, hanging from a vine. She knew instantly what it was, and it bade her nearly burst into tears.  
  
She made a move toward him, her arm outstretched. "Peter..."  
  
He saw what she was going for, and he covered the object with his hand and jumped back. "I found it first! 'Tis mine!"  
  
Quickly Wendy remembered herself and stopped. "What...that is, where did you find it?"  
  
Peter fingered it blithely, as if quite curiously taken with it. "I found it on Blind Man's Bluff when Tink woke me up." His brow furrowed and he scratched his head. "You know, I must have hit myself hard this time, because I don't remember a thing, and I have no idea where these clothes came from!"  
  
Wendy nodded obligingly as Peter veered off course, but he soon found his way back. "Anyway, it looked to be some sort of a ring, though it will not fit any of my fingers. But I thought it so delightful that I made a necklace instead! Isn't that so very clever of me?"  
  
It was indeed, Wendy thought. The Fairy King was right – he would always be her husband. And he still had the precious wedding ring to prove it.  
  
"Oh, Peter," Wendy whispered, feeling quite pleased despite everything. "I...I should like to...give you a..." – she chose her words carefully – "a kiss. A real kiss."  
  
Peter seemed suspicious but intrigued nonetheless. He loved gifts. "What is a 'kiss'?"  
  
"It is something very special, something that shall always belong to you and no one else. But..." she added sternly, "In order for me to give it to you, you must let me touch you."  
  
This was quite off-putting to Peter, but this lady seemed harmless, despite how fiercely she had defeated Hook earlier. "Will it hurt?"  
  
Wendy wanted to say yes, for it may very well be the most painful for her. "I hope it shan't."  
  
Peter relaxed a bit, and with wary eyes said, "Very well then. I shall accept this 'kiss'."  
  
He held out his hand, so much like he had when first Wendy had offered him a kiss an eternity ago. But this time, she took no thimbles off her fingers or anything of the sort. Hurt feelings be damned. Peter should forever know what a true kiss was.  
  
And so Wendy approached him carefully, and whence just before him, she leaned down and placed her Hidden Kiss upon his cheek. And there should it remain forever.  
  
When Wendy straightened, Peter put his hand down and stared past her, almost as if disturbed. Then, he looked back at Wendy, and with an approving grin, stated, "So strange! But a good sort of strange! Thank you, Wendy-Lady, I shall keep your 'kiss' safe with me."  
  
He said it in such a businesslike manner, but Wendy could see that he was to be true to his word. She looked longingly upon his little face and tried to imagine her life henceforth without it.  
  
"Oh, Peter," She was beginning to tear. "I shall miss you so."  
  
And then, as if quite not understanding why, Peter responded, "I know."  
  
Wendy regarded him in silence for a moment until she saw the merest of grins creep upon his lips, and for a brief instant, she once again saw the face of her beloved husband hidden behind the youthful countenance of the boy standing before her. And she knew indeed that he shall be with her always.  
  
The epiphanous moment was soon drastically interrupted by another little boy bounding noisily up from the latter and onto the platform, and in seconds flat, Wendy's dress was being tugged upon by her son.  
  
"Mummy, Mummy!" Anthony exclaimed breathlessly, "The fairies are ready to take us back home now!"  
  
"So, you are both leaving?" Peter asked rather disappointedly.  
  
"Yes," Wendy replied simply.  
  
"Shall you come back?" Peter was hopeful, as was Anthony.  
  
"I do not think that will be possible, Peter, I'm sorry."  
  
Peter thought a moment. "May I come to visit you where you live?"  
  
Anthony looked to his mother expectantly, and she could hardly deny the boy.  
  
"We shall see," came the answer. 'Twas the closest to a lie she had ever told any of her children or even Peter himself. But she could not say no. And even a yes would put such false hopes into Anthony's head. She knew Peter would soon forget all about them anyhow.  
  
But indeed the answer was not a 'no', which was as good as a 'yes' to Peter and Anthony, and so they were satisfied.  
  
"Well, we must be going now," Wendy declared, steadying her voice. With Anthony at her side, she slowly began to back away from Peter toward the latter.  
  
"Goodbye, Peter," both she and Anthony said in turn.  
  
Peter tossed them a noncommittal 'goodbye' in return and immediately turned back to what he was doing before Wendy had interrupted him. Wendy could not help but be so very unsettled by his apparent indifference, but she knew more than anybody how this was simply the way it was for Peter Pan.  
  
And so with one last glance upon he who had slipped in and out of Heaven itself, she bade a final farewell to her greatest adventure.  
  
Once Wendy and Anthony reached the inside of the tree home once more, Anthony finally asked of his mother: "Mummy, what has become of Daddy anyway?"  
  
She hadn't expected the Moment of Truth to come upon her so soon, but it was bound to happen sooner than later. She thought back to all that the fairies had told her.  
  
"Your Daddy..." she began, crouching before him, "He had to go away. He had to go to another place where people need him even more than you and I. And there he shall take care of them as he took care you."  
  
"And he shan't come back?" Anthony asked.  
  
"I'm afraid he cannot," she replied gently. "But he asked me to tell you how very much he loves you and always will."  
  
Anthony sighed. "'Tis a shame. I really did like Mr. Peter."  
  
And without a word more, Anthony tread lightly out of the tree home, leaving Wendy in awe. Did he still think this all but a game? Perhaps it was better so.  
  
Outside the tree home, Wendy was greeted by several Indians and fairies, all leading her toward the beach beyond the forest where a small canoe lay in wait for her. Several more fairies stood at different posts upon the canoe, one of which was happily familiar to Anthony.  
  
"Sixem!" he exclaimed, dashing toward the canoe to greet his friend. "I thought I was never to see you again!"  
  
The young fairy smiled pleasantly. "I got you here, and I intend to deliver you back safely."  
  
Tinker Bell was there as well, and before Wendy boarded the canoe, she flew upon her and affectionately tugged a lock of her hair. Wendy smiled at her gratefully.  
  
"You have saved Peter so many countless times, Tinker Bell; I hope you shall continue to be forever steadfast in your loyalty to him."  
  
"You know I shall," Tinker Bell responded.  
  
"Do take care of him," Wendy said. "He needs it so."  
  
Tinker Bell gave a hearty jingle, promising Wendy that she should always look after Peter Pan.  
  
The Indians helped Wendy into the canoe, followed by Anthony, who sat snugly upon his mother's lap. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and pressed her cheek to the top of his head.  
  
The Indians cried out a ceremonious farewell to Wendy and the boy in their native tongue, as did the remaining fairies. And with the strict order from Sixem, the fairy guides anointed the little canoe with their dust until it shimmered golden and began to ascend into the air.  
  
Sixem shouted out her directions, the guides turning the canoe due west of the rising sun. And with a gentle tilt, the boat began its journey back to London.  
  
Wendy kept her eyes toward her feet as the fairies carried them off. But Anthony shifted in her lap and turned to look behind him intently. And she could sense he was smiling.  
  
Against her better judgment, Wendy lifted her head and turned it to follow Anthony's gaze, and thus was when she saw, standing proud and erect upon a small bluff near Mermaid's Lagoon, Peter Pan's silhouette cast darkly against the brilliant sun, creeping steadily over the horizon of Neverland. He stood with his hands on his hips and his legs spread slightly apart – the vision of eternal youth that Wendy and countless others had so emblazoned on their consciousness – and watched silently as Wendy and Anthony disappeared into the sky above.  
  
And finally did Wendy smile genuinely, for she knew it to be true how Peter was to bring such joy and hope into the lives of children for generations thereafter. He would always be there, lurking behind the giggles of a newborn child, in the faces of childless mothers everywhere, and in the hearts and dreams of Wendy herself and her children. And I daresay that, even now, if you were to lay your precious head upon your pillow at night and recall all the sweet thoughts of your own youth, maybe, just maybe, you too might hear the faint echo of Peter Pan's victorious crow.  
  
THE END. 


End file.
